


The Diary (Archive)

by LittleMulattoKitten



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Temporary, The Diary Archive, This will eventually be deleted, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 06:13:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 58
Words: 55,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14785037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMulattoKitten/pseuds/LittleMulattoKitten
Summary: The original chapters of The Diary. This archive is primarily for anyone who was in the process of reading The Diary as of 5.28.2018 who did not get to finish it before I took all the original chapters down from the main fic.This will be deleted at some point after the rewrite has been fully posted.





	1. The Journal

She knew it wasn't a normal book the moment she saw it.

Somehow it had ended up in her belongings, likely when Malfoy had collided with her in the halls. That exchange alone had been incredibly unnerving. Malfoy had  _apologized_  and helped her to organize their things. His attitude towards her all year had changed considerably, though she had no idea why. His father hadn't even been unkind to her in Flourish and Blotts, instead sneering at the Weasley clan and Harry, but eyeing her with seeming indifference.

It was suspicious.

Tentatively, she flipped the dark leather bound journal over and read the name near the bottom. The gold letters were faded to the point where she could hardly read them, but she managed to make out "T….i..le". She flipped it back over.

Judging by the condition of the book, she assuming it was very old, and perhaps very treasured in its prime. Though that didn't explain why Draco Malfoy would have put it in her things, assuming he did so intentionally.

Her gut told her it was intentional.

Her gut also told her to take it to McGonagall and be done with it, but she found herself flipping the journal back over and opening it instead. All the pages were blank. She frowned.

Why would someone have a journal with their name imprinted on the back and never use it? If such an item were a gift and had gone unused, wouldn't they have put it somewhere safe, such as a bookshelf or a desk drawer? Their school trunk, even?

She checked out a spell book from the library with spells well above her year within its pages and tried several revealing charms, but none of them worked. She researched possible potions or mixtures that would reveal charmed ink only to find out that the potions were eventually turned into the charms she had already tried.


	2. Ares

On Halloween she left the feast early. She told the boys she wasn't feeling well and had homework to finish so they would go to Nearly Headless Nick's party without her. The common room was empty, but she went up to the dorm anyway.

When the curtains of her four-poster are drawn shut, she pulls out a quill and her favorite sapphire ink. Neatly, as always, she pens the date:

_31 October 2012_

The ink vanished before it dried.

She stared at the blank page, glaring at it as if it would suddenly reveal all of its secrets, when a dark emerald script appeared where she had written the date.

_31 October 1962_

Her frown deepened.

More green ink bled into the page.

_Tell me who told you to try and prank me, as well as your name and how you managed to hijack my journal, and I'll consider taking a much smaller amount of housepoints than I'm of the mind to._

She chewed on the end of her quill.

_Several weeks ago a classmate bumped into me and stuck this old journal into my things. I haven't been put up to anything._

_Your name? And am I truly meant to believe that?_

_I am not going to give personal information to a source I cannot see or judge for myself._

_I'm a prefect. Tell me before I bring this to the attention of my head of house, or perhaps I'll just go straight to Headmaster Dippet._

Her frown returned.

_Dippet hasn't been Headmaster for thirty-five years._

_The longer you play this game with me the more points I'll take when I finally find you._

She wracked her brain, suddenly remembering a factoid she'd heard in the common room earlier that week.

_I can prove it. Eunice Murray will die during the first Quidditch game for the Montrose Magpies in November._

_That game is next week._

_Then you'll know I'm not lying._

_You never told me who you are._

_I won't give you my real name._

_Give me something to call you then, person who is apparently from the future._

_Nyx._

_The goddess of night? How romantic. Ares._

_You could have at least picked something not Greek._

_I'm not willing to put anymore effort into...whatever this is than necessary. What house are you in?_

She frowned at his subject change.

_Gryffindor._

_You don't sound like a Gryffindor._

_I wasn't comfortable with where the hat wanted to put me. It took my suggestion to be sorted elsewhere._

_Ravenclaw?_

_Yes._

The lie was familiar.

_Well, Miss Nyx of Ravenclaw, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, as much as one can do so through a book, of course._

_It's been something, but I don't know if I would call this a pleasure._

_Give it time, Dove, who knows what we might learn._

They hardly wrote one another, but if he penned to her the journal would hum with a silent sort of magic only she was acutely aware of. She wasn't sure how it worked on his side, but she knew that the hum faded once she saw his message. She decided to write him first this time.

_Are you going home for the holidays?_

_What holiday?_

_Christmas, of course._

_It's November – the twenty-third to be exact. Why are you worrying about Christmas when we haven't even taken end of term exams?_

* * *

They quickly realized that the passage of time was not consistent between them. Ares, who was taking Arithmancy and rather skilled at it, realized that time ratio meant that every two days or so that passed for her, was one for him.

 _It's unfortunate, really. We write one another rather steadily throughout the day for me, but you're always waiting for my replies._  He mused.

 _I don't mind._  She's countered.  _It gives me time to study._

_Salazar forbid you don't have time to get through the last half of the fourth year curriculum before the hols._

He was a prat, she learned, though most of the time he was only trying to get a rise out of her. He was more rational than Harry or Ron, which gave her a pleasant reprieve from their constant tomfoolery.

She loved the boys, but Ares was special. Different.

_Are you going home then? For Christmas?_

_Not this year. My parents are taking a trip to France. I wanted to stay._

_I have an idea. We might be able to see each other, but it's complicated magic - far above that of a second year._

Her jaw tightened in offense, which was probably his goal.

_When do we start?_


	3. Putting Faces to Names

Molly called her children home for the holiday. Hermione had respectfully declined the Weasley's invitation to the Burrow, claiming that the busy term had been quite trying. Harry chose to stay behind with her so she wouldn't be alone. Molly promised to send them biscuits and ordered them to rest up over the break.

Hermione had no such intentions.

Ares told her to get a book. A book she knew to be in the restricted section.  
She recognized a challenge when she saw one.

Harry didn't even inquire as to why she wanted to borrow his cloak, assuming she was going to spend a late night studying in the library. He was almost accurate.

The room came next. She passed the wall three times. The door appeared on her first try.

Ares was impressed.

Well, aren't you a powerful little thing? Next the salt circle. Then the spell.

She cast the charm, and he had to draw the rune she needed to make in the circle several times before she got it. She set the journal down, page open, atop the salt rune. But she hesitated with the witch light.

It won't burn. He promised. Magic is about intent. It won't burn unless you will it to.

It didn't burn.

The spell was hard. She struggled for twenty minutes before she got annoyed.

Am I doing something wrong?

No, Dove. Keep trying. You nearly had it a moment ago. Be patient. It hasn't even been ten minutes.

Reminding her of the time difference helped her refocus.

She closed her eyes and tried again.

Vinculo iungantur…vinculo iungantur…

"Oh, you're a treat, little Dove," He said with a low chuckle.

She jumped, wide eyes springing open and landing on the fifth year boy a meter or so in front of her., sat exactly as she was within his own salt circle. His journal, a pristine version of hers, was encased in its own ball of blue flame. The azure glow illuminated his smirking face.

His very pretty smirking face.

Very, very pretty.

Prettier than Lockhart's, even.

"Hello," she murmured shyly.

The pretty smirk widened and his eyes glittered like the prefect badge on his robes.

"Hello, Dove."


	4. Student and Master

They met in the room as often as the time difference would allow.

The first meeting he tested her knowledge of the second year curriculum. The next, third year. Then fourth.

"What have you done, checked out the textbooks in each subject for every year and read through them?" He asked when she managed a slim silvery wisp of a patronus.

"Yes," She answered defensively, glaring at him.

His dark blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"The hat wanted you in Ravenclaw?"

She nodded automatically, reflexively.

"And yet you aren't broadcasting the true depth of your knowledge in order to get into more challenging classes?"

"No," She answered. "I get plenty made fun with top marks in classes with my own age group."

"The older students would find you adorable and amusing. They'd protect you."

"Until I started getting higher marks than them too," she countered.

His smirk made her uncomfortable.

" _Ravenclaw_?"

She crossed her arms against her chest.

"Cast it again."

"You cast it," She snapped.

"Careful, Dove," he said darkly, his smirk leveling into something decidedly less playful.

A chill ran down her spine.

"I like you, don't ruin it."

"Prat," she mumbled.

"Cast it again."

* * *

On night four, which was just past the halfway point of the holiday break for Nyx, Tom grew concerned.

"Again."

She sighed, but did as he told her.

A pathetic strand of silver sprang from her wand, the same wand wielded by the same witch whose natural magical prowess was akin to his own, before it faded and died.

"Pick a different memory."

"I don't have any happier ones!"

He raised an eyebrow at her in warning and she looked away, chastised. But she was upset with herself, so he excused her disrespectful slip up.

"Again."

It was six more tries before she threw her wand across the room. He flicked his own, cast a silent levitation spell so it didn't break, and eyed the teary, too clever second year before him.

"There has to be something," He said evenly. "A first year has enough happy memories for the charm, but simply lacks the strength and skill to cast it."

She glared at her feet, fists shaking and jaw clenched.

"Look at me."

Such a good listener, this one, especially compared to the other members of his social circle. It was so hard to find the right balance of curiosity and compliance nowadays. He could teach her many things, he just had to keep her loyalties in check.

He cast a silent legilimens and gently peeled back the layers of her thoughts.

He skimmed and skimmed through one memory of muggle bullies to another, memories of her muggle parents' worthless assurances that the other children at school were just jealous. They told her to ignore them and they'd go away. They didn't.

He combed through the carefully organized compartments she'd filed her troubles away in, stumbling across the brightest of her memories. The hope surrounding her Hogwarts letter, the chance of going to a new school with new people who hopefully wouldn't find so many faults with her.

They did anyway.

He skimmed a bit more, looking for another memory, any other memory that wasn't tinged with the greys of disappointment, despair, and hopelessness.

Buried in her recent memories was a cluster of shimmering thoughts. They were wrapped in worry and suspicion, but the memories themselves were pure enough for a Patronus if those layers were peeled away.

He dug into them and saw himself through her eyes. A mental better, someone who wasn't using her to boost their essay grades or constantly teasing her about her intelligence with more truth behind the jokes than anyone chose to acknowledge. She wanted to let herself consider him a friend, but was convinced he too would only see her as a tool.

She wasn't wrong, but he wasn't the type to lie to himself. He was oddly protective of the little fuzz ball.

_Can damn near cast a Patronus, but you don't know a single hair care charm?_

He withdrew partially, finding her still angrily staring into space.

"Try again, Dove," He told her, flicking his wand so hers floated into her hand. "Even if you think it's a false hope or desire, it can be strong enough to form a Patronus."

The deflated expression on her face as she plucked her wand out of the air matched the brief partial memory of their first meeting in the Room of Requirement. Her jaw set as she focused and morphed the memory into an idea. Her, successfully casting a Patronus, shape not specified, and him, impressed, proud, smirking, and muttering 'Well done, Dove.'

A shimmering Royal Python sprung from the tip of her wand and danced in the air around them. They both watched it as it circled her, then him, before vanishing in a wisp of smoke.

Nyx was trying to suppress the smile twitching at her lips and Tom couldn't prevent a genuine smile in return.

"Well done, Dove," He said gently.

In her mind the idea she used for her Patronus changed into a memory. The only differences between the two being the shape of her Patronus and the sincerity of his smile.


	5. Ravenclaw

She was pensive today. Worried about something, if the abuse her somewhat unfortunate teeth were delivering to her lower lip was anything to go by. He waited.

"People are acting funny this year," she mumbled without looking up from the massive tome she was pouring over.

"And this concerns you, how?" He asked, dotting an 'i' on his nearly finished essay.

"Funny towards me," she added.

He suppressed a sigh, choosing to remain silent until she got on with whatever she was hesitating to say.

"You don't think they know I wasn't sorted correctly, do you?" She said several moments later.

He blew on his parchment to help an unintentionally heavy spot of ink dry.

"Ravenclaws treating you oddly," He baited, "They're clever, but I wouldn't give them that much credit."

A glance to his left showed him that she was suddenly very interested in the same paragraph she'd been staring at since she first spoke up.

"Or are you trying to tell me another house has taken notice that perhaps you don't belong where you are? Because if that's the case, I'm quite impressed with school children of the future. Their predecessors' idiocy must not have been bosom-fed to them after all," he continued, pretending not to notice her uncomfortable shift beside him.

"I suppose," she murmured.

He glanced at her again, annoyed at himself for being so concerned.

"They'd have eaten you alive," he said as he cast a drying spell over his essay and cast another spell to warm his sealing wax.

"The Ravenclaws?"

He sealed his essay without responding.

* * *

"So this…Snape person," He mused. "Awfully disagreeable sort of fellow, especially last year. But this year he treats you better and it's an issue?"

She frowned at him, pushing a mass of curls out of her face. His hand itched for his wand, but he refrained. She'd get all righteous and offended if he spelled her hair into submission for her. Eventually he'd have her complacent enough, trained well enough, that her hair would always be tamed by the will of one of their wands.

"He ignores me for the most part, but still treats my housemates like flobberworm spawn," she explained. "But I'm no different than I was last year."

"I'm not following."

She huffed in frustration. "Nevermind."

"Certainly there must be more to it that I'm not understanding," he added conversationally, watching poorly concealed panic flicker through her irises.

_Legilimens._

_"Difficult…Very Difficult. Such a well-organized mind, powerful too…yes…and determined to excel in whatever crosses your path…"_

"Not really," She lied quickly. A lie that would have passed by anyone else. "I suppose I'm over thinking it."

_"…brave, yes, and loyal too…but so driven…Salazar himself would be impressed..."_

_I'm muggleborn. Please, don't put me in Slytherin…_

"You don't really believe that," He said softly.

_"You would change everything they know…they would come to make you their own…"_

_Not Slytherin. Anywhere but Slytherin._

"Yes I do."

_"You're hardly aligned to be in any of the other houses, my dear…"_

_Please…_

_"Then I suppose it ought to be...GRYFFINDOR!"_

His lips curled into a smirk as he withdrew from her memories.

"No you don't, Dove."

* * *

"Only Dumbledore would hide a valuable stone in a school full of children," he snapped when she finished telling him about the  _adventure_ she and her friends had in their first year. "What was the fool after?"

Nyx – or  _Hermione_  as he'd found out during a session of combing through her mind – shrugged.

"Apparently he was rejected by some political group and was trying to prove his worth?" She told him. "'The Order of' something. They're a very private group, according to the article the Prophet ran after Quirrell was arrested. Forward thinkers."

Tom filed the name away for future use. He intended to live a very long life, meaning there was absolutely no reason he wouldn't survive until her time.

Eventually time would overlap.

In his future he would have a soldier within Hogwarts' walls. A snake pretending to be a raven wearing a lion's skin.

"I'd like to go into politics," he commented. "Become Minister of Magic."

Her nose wrinkled. "I'd like to make a difference, I think, and do something important, but I don't think I'd like playing tedious political games with people."

"You could be an unorthodox society wife," he mused, picturing the image – An older version of her with tamed hair, a dangerous smile, and a lack of respect for social conformity.

In fifty years he'd find her. In fifty years he'd help her marry some acceptably high standing schmuck who found her to be so precious and clever that he let her do whatever suited her fancy.

"I certainly won't be conforming to such primeval, patriarchal nonsense," she muttered. "I'll build success however I please, thanks."

He chuckled lowly. " _Ravenclaw_."

Her lips twitched into a smile.


	6. Sponsorship

_Happy Christmas_

The words bled into the page in her familiar hand as he laid on his four poster.

 _Thank you, pet._ He wrote back _. And how is your February afternoon treating you?_

_As well as expected, I suppose. Malfoy caused Ronald to curse himself this morning with that broken wand of his. He kept the spell from ricocheting onto me._

_Did he now? How kind of him._

_I don't understand why he seems to be looking out for me._

_Give the boy a chance. You could use some of your own kind on your side._

_That would be a bit obvious, wouldn't it?_

_To another Slytherin maybe. Either way, do you really care?_

* * *

_Draco's grandfather knows you._

_So his name is Draco now?_

_You said to give him a chance. We study in the library some nights._

_I see. Abraxas?_

_I assume so._

_He's a prick, but an influential prick. Good to know his loyalties will hold._

_I'm sure he'd properly terrified into submission._

_As he should be._

_You're mental, Ares._

_Tom._

_What?_

_My name, Dove. It's Tom. Tom Riddle._

_Hermione Granger._

* * *

She was in classes according to his calculations. A quick glance at his copy of her timetable told him she'd just entered a double potions period with her seemingly bipolar dungeon bat of a professor.

He had acquired a few new journals in the last Hogsmeade trip, though none of them had his name on them. He charmed each one so that only he could read their contents, and added 'Snape' to the dark blue journal where he kept a list of things and people to look out for in the future.

He pondered Abraxas Malfoy and his future grandson Draco, Hermione's secret friend. The girl truly did need to be resorted, but seemed very set upon keeping up the façade of her housing. He already had the loyalties of the current scion to the House of Malfoy, which he could use to his advantage when time caught up with itself. If he cultivated this Severus fellow as well, he could build Hermione a foundation of people in Slytherin so her transition into 'enemy territory' would be less jarring.

But if he played within the bulk of societies rules he wouldn't be able to become the immortal dark lord he so desired to be. He wanted to crush that bastard Dumbledore and deny him his chances of happiness, just as Tom had been denied his.

Upon seeing a familiar script bleed into the pages of his diary, Tom smiled to himself and spelled the page so the words wouldn't fade until he felt like acknowledging them.

_Maybe not entirely denied his happiness…_

Hermione was the eldest in her year with her September birthday. She would be seventeen at the dawn of her sixth year, and eighteen at the dawn of her seventh. If his calculations were correct, then he would be finishing his seventh year just as the second term of hers was beginning. At the same time in her timeline, he would be turning seventy.

He frowned.

Much too old for an eighteen year old girl, especially if times continued to move in the progressive fashion they were now. But if Tom could stop his body from aging, then those years would be insignificant.

Assuming his predictions in Divination this week had meant what he interpreted them too, and the currently thirteen year old witch in question would grow to be his equal. His better in some ways, even.

Dumbledore seemed to think Tom incapable of love, but Tom wondered if it was merely that he'd never met a person worthy of expending his emotions on. Here he sat, fretting over the girl's future while wondering if her Potion's professor had changed his tune again and decided to torment the clever little witch. Surely that meant he wasn't incapable of affection.

And he saw the way she looked at him, the way most of the female population looked at him. Surely what was likely a budding crush could – would – grow into something a bit better suited to his plans and predictions if given the proper encouragement?

Did he want to provide that encouragement?

He pulled the leather journal close, deciding to finally read the words written there, and was shocked to find that she was already out of class. Time moved so quickly for the little witch compared to how it moved for him.

_Professor Snape asked me to stay after class…_

His frown deepened as he continued to the next line.

_He was acting strange, or at least I thought so, perhaps he's always civil with the Slytherins…_

_You are one, Dove, so he ought to be…_ Tom thought _._

_He…he told me that I've been chosen to be sponsored by the head of the board of governors. Sponsored, Tom! My books, robes, any additional supplies, paid for in full! I'll even receive a monthly allowance next year for trips to Hogsmeade! And additional tutoring if my end of terms are as impressive as last years!_

He picked up his quill, gears turning in his mind. He was very pleased for his little Dove, but suspicion was making the back of his neck prickle.

 _Who's head of the board?_ He wrote.

She didn't reply for several minutes.

_I'm not sure…_

His frown returned.

_Snape said he knew about my sorting though…told me to come to him if I ever decided I wanted to switch houses..._

Propping himself up on his free elbow, he used the hand he was leaning against to rub in vain at the prickling sensation on his neck. After a moment he gave up on the futile effort and penned his reply.

_I wouldn't fret, my Dove. Just keep your wits sharp and eyes open._

_Like a Slytherin,_ she wrote.

And he smiled.

_Precisely._


	7. Study Buddies

She met him in the library. With exams quickly approaching and strain on her relationship with Ron after that idiotic fight several days prior, Hermione was more inclined to find an actual study _partner_ than to try to make the boys behave responsibly.

He was at a table in one of the far back corners, surrounded by the looming bookshelves and with only two points of entry to the little nook. With how secluded they were from the rest of the library, it was a wonder anyone ever found this spot. She certainly hadn't – yet – and wouldn't have if the boy in question hadn't provided her with a quickly doodled map.

"Happy Tuesday," he greeted without glancing up from his book.

"Afternoon, Draco," she said, somewhat distractedly as she set her books down and took the seat across from him.

His eyes, caught somewhere between the palest of icy blues and most silver of greys, glanced up at her for a moment.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted."

She tried to muster up a convincing smile and an 'I'm fine', but he saw right through it.

"Weasley?" He guessed, returning his gaze to the text before him.

Her slow sigh told him he guessed correctly.

"Saint Potter taken Weasley's side this time, has he?"

"No," she muttered. "It isn't like that. He's just…"

"An immature fool who barely sees the world outside of his own perfect little Gryffindor bubble?" Draco finished for her. "And thinks anything even remotely related to Slytherin is evil?"

Hermione sighed again and Draco reached out to grab her hand without looking up.

"May I write you over the summer?" He asked her quietly.

She gently squeezed his fingers, reveling for a moment in the fact that the Draco Malfoy was willing and eager to be in cohorts with a mudblood.

"You may," she told him.

He squeezed her fingers in return.

* * *

Word spread quickly that Professor Lockhart, whose reputation had declined exponentially since the new term began, would not be returning for the following school year.

A routine observatory sit-in of several upper year classes by a member of the board resulted in the public becoming aware that the fifth years were nowhere near prepared to sit their O.W.L.s, and the sixth and seventh years were equally unprepared for their N.E.W.T.s. Mandatory summer workshops were being set up so those students could have their exams postponed until early July. The board resolved to see how the younger years fared on their exams before coming up with a catch-up plan.

And it was on the first morning of exam week that Hermione received a very thick letter from a sleek black owl.

She frowned at the seal, recognizing the symbol – a Caduceus pressed into silver wax - but not who it belonged to.

"Wot'cha go' 'ere, 'Mione?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food.

Her lips twitched in distaste. "Honestly, Ronald, table manners."

He rolled his eyes and ignored her, returning to his breakfast.

"Who's it from?" Harry asked from beside her, having taken care to swallow before speaking.

"I dunno," she admitted, breaking the seal carefully.

The stationary inside was crisp and heavy, decorated delicately around the edges with a pattern of silver laurels which glinted against the marble white parchment. She was very careful as she removed the letter, noting the glistening dark green ink and somewhat familiar script.


	8. Lord Riddle

_Miss Granger,_

_As a result of your Defense professor's shortcomings being brought to light, I have taken to discussing the remainder of your year's education with your remaining professors. Your classmates will begin sitting their exams this week, however, if you're agreeable, I would prefer you sit them over the summer. I wish to evaluate your current standing personally alongside a professor who speaks most highly of you in order to see how much, if any, setbacks have been caused by the incompetent Mr. Lockhart._

_If you are agreeable to my request, simply do not sit your exams this week and notify Professor Snape. He is aware of my schedule and can coordinate a time for us to meet before term ends._

_If you decline – which you may, my dear – then I wish you the best of luck on your exams and hope you enjoy your summer holiday._

_Humbly Yours,_

_Lord Tom M. Riddle of the House of Gaunt_

_Head of the Order of Hermes_

_Head Chair of the Hogwarts Board of Governors_

Hermione exhaled slowly. "It's from my sponsor," she told Harry quietly. "He wants me to consider postponing my exams until the summer..."

Harry frowned. "Does he think Lockhart will have impacted your grades too? Weren't your marks perfect in his class?"

She nodded. "Even those of us with good marks weren't up to the proper standards," she reminded him. "I suppose it's just to make sure his money isn't wasted by gaps in my education..."

Harry agreed with her and returned to discussing Quidditch with Ron, but Hermione ended up staring at the sign off until it was time to depart for exams.

When she glanced up, Professor Snape was already watching her with an unreadable expression. Letter in hand, she nodded curtly.

He nodded back.

* * *

"You get to wait until summer!" Ron shouted, having returned to the common room after the day's exams to find Hermione curled up with what appeared to be one of Lockhart's biographies but was actually the fifth year DADA textbook.

She turned a page idly. "I'm choosing to give up part of my summer to take my exams at the request of my sponsor, yes," she corrected.

"Sponsor?" Ron asked.

Hermione made a mental note of how little Ron paid attention to anyone but himself. Honestly, she'd gotten, opened, and discussed the letter with Harry while sitting right across from the him!

"The head of the board is paying for her schooling," Harry explained when Hermione didn't immediately jump in to do so. "'Mione and I looked into it when we went to the library at lunch. Hasn't been done for ages, but it'll get her name known and help her get apprenticeships when we've graduated."

Ron's shocked and slightly annoyed look turned into poorly concealed contempt. "Someone pays her to be a swot?!"

Hermione's grip on her book tightened. "I don't get paid anything. It just means that my school supplies are paid for by my sponsor instead of my parents."

Ron muttered something under his breath that sounded to Hermione like a bitter 'Good for you'.

She slammed her book shut and stuffed it in her bag, ignoring Ron entirely.

"I've got to Floo back to London for my meeting," she said primly to Harry. "Please don't wait up. I'm not sure what time I'll get in."

"Have fun, 'Mione," Harry said carefully, just as Ron snapped, "We won't."

Hermione didn't stick around long enough to see or hear Harry glare at Ron and scold him for being a prat instead of being proud of their friend. She simply picked up her pace and continued down to the dungeons to meet Professor Snape.

* * *

"Good evening, Professor," she said softly, after being granted entry to his office.

"Miss Granger," Snape greeted evenly, his voice not unkind. "I trust you are ready to leave?"

She nodded and he poured her a handful of Floo powder.

"We're going to 'Proserpine Park', Miss Granger," he told her, making her repeat the name twice aloud before gesturing towards the Floo.

She stepped through without a hitch, coming out to a grand entrance hall in what was clearly the home of someone not lacking in wealth.

Professor Snape stepped through a moment later, casting a quick charm to rid the dust from their robes, and set off leading her down various winding halls.

Hermione was so caught up in admiring the décor that she was surprised when they stooped at what seemed to be a random door. Professor Snape knocked twice before opening it.

Suddenly very nervous, Hermione unconsciously stuck a hand in her satchel, her fingers finding the journal, and held is as she timidly followed her potions professor into the gorgeous drawing room.


	9. Meeting Tom (Again)

He looked the same.

Older, surely, but only by a handful of years. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two or so, but she knew he was in his sixties. His hair held no trace of grey and his blue, blue eyes were clearer, sharper even, than that of the schoolboy she often visited in the Room of Requirement. He was still all perfect angles and handsome smiles. All poise, confidence, and power.

He was still too pretty.

"You know I'm not behind in Defense," was the first thing she said, her voice quiet and betraying her nerves.

He smiled and her cheeks heated further. "I do," he answered amusedly.

She caught herself just before she asked him why she was here. Or why he was paying for her schooling. Or why he'd only just now tracked her down. She still had the journal and could feel the hum that told her she had a message waiting. The Tom she knew was fifteen.

The man her Tom would become was watching her with a far too pleased look on his face.

"I'd nearly forgotten how small you were in your second year," he said suddenly. "You grew so much, so quickly, that I could hardly imagine how you looked before your sixth year."

She blinked at him. She knew, as her Tom had told her, that time was passing differently on each side of their connection. She hadn't even considered that if she had the journal throughout the entirety of her schooling, then Tom would see her pass through life at a much faster speed, bearing witness to so many years in such a small span of time.

Who knew what memories of their relationship this Tom had that she'd yet to experience?

"Relax," said the man before her. "Do you think I would seek you out if our friendship hadn't remained strong?"

 _You would if I upset you somehow,_ she thought. And she could have sworn his lips quirked as if she'd said the words aloud.

"You haven't eaten, Dove," he said suddenly. "Come. Humor me."

She knew better than to think the words were anything but an order.

Snape silently followed behind them as Tom lead her back through the house to an ornate dining room. Once he had her seated and the staff – human, she noticed – had begun preparing to serve them, Tom regarded her once again.

"Refresh my memory, Dove," he told her. "I remember the important details but only because I've been involved with the Lockhart nonsense and thanks to the occasional update from Severus here. I'd like to know what all I may have forgotten.

Hesitantly, she obliged him.

She told him how she got the journal, her tentative truce with Draco Malfoy that had turned into a secret friendship, and how far ahead she'd gotten in the school curriculum. She told him how she was starting to feel like an outcast again, save for Harry's unwavering loyalty, and how she was getting sick of Ron's immature judgementalism.

"I want to tell Harry about my sorting," she muttered as she picked at her dessert. "But he was friends with Ronald first. I only became part of the group after the troll incident..."

"If I may..." Professor Snape interjected slowly, continuing after receiving a small nod from Tom, "Mr. Potter's relationship with Mr. Weasley carries...an air of obligation, if you will."

Hermione frowned in confusion, but chose not to interrupt.

"That is to say...it appears that Mr. Potter's patience for Mr. Weasley's behavior stems from an _expected_ sense of loyalty, rather than a genuine foundation," Snape continued. "Overtime that dynamic may certainly shift to reflect a truer bond, but at this time I believe it is safe to say that Mr. Potter has a stronger, _healthier_ , bond with you, Miss Granger, than he does with Mr. Weasley."

Her frown deepened in thought as she carefully cut a piece of black tie mousse cake with the edge of her fork and ate it.

"You never know, Dove," Tom piped up. "You may not be the only person at Hogwarts who chose one house over another."

Hermione glanced up, eyeing Tom suspiciously, but all he did was smile.

 _Prat_ , she thought.

His smirk widened.

* * *

Harry hadn't listened when she told the boys not to wait up for her. Instead Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room pleasantly full and surprised to find the messy haired boy dozing near the fire.

"Hullo, 'Mione," he said with a lazy smile.

She smiled back. "You should be in bed."

He shrugged and moved over so she could share the large chair with him. She accepted the unspoken invitation.

"Is your sponsor a nice bloke?" He asked.

She nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder. "He's quite charming, actually. Attentive, too."

"Good."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the cracks and pops of the fire. Hermione was starting to doze off when Harry spoke up again.

"Is there anything in _Hogwarts: A History_ about being able to...influence the sorting hat's decision?" He asked.

Tom's words from dinner started to make her brain itch.

"There isn't, really. The hat does factor in personal preference, I think, but there isn't much documented about it," she answered. "Why?"

"It's just..." He sighed. "I got to thinking and I just wondered if choosing another house would make you 'missorted.'"

She glanced up at him, finding him frowning towards the fire.

"Were you meant to be somewhere else?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Sort of," he mumbled. "I didn't think I belonged there, so I asked it to put me anywhere else."

"And it chose Gryffindor," she said.

"Yeah."

She hesitated a moment.

"I did too," she admitted. "I asked it not to put me where it wanted me."

Harry's gaze shifted down to her, his green eyes mixed with surprise, worry, and hope.

"Yeah? Didn't fancy Ravenclaw?" He quipped lightly.

"Not exactly." She gave him a sad smile. "I'll tell if you do."

He grinned. "On three?"

They counted down together in hushed whispers and stared at one another, shocked, when they said the same house.


	10. Summer Begins

_So your reasonable friend is a snake in lion's skin too?_

Hermione finished neatly packing away her books before she grabbed the journal to respond.

_Yes._

_Suppose that explains why he's decent._

She rolled her eyes.

_You're starting to sound like Ronald. No one house is better than the other._

_Apologies, Dove. But the Weasley boy doesn't exactly paint the best picture for thoroughbred Gryffindors, now does he?_

He had a point there.

_Fair enough. Still. Ron's our friend._

_A shite friend, darling._

She couldn't argue that either.

_So, what am I like in 2013?_

She pursed her lips.

_Charming as ever. You've certainly built a life for yourself. Though I still don't understand why you're paying for my school things._

_Consider it an investment in your future, Dove. I must be fairly well off if I can afford your supplies._

She didn't tell him about how massive the mansion was.

_You're comfortable, no doubt._

_I detect sarcasm in the form of understatement._

_Sarcasm? Gryffindor's don't know the art._

_ You _ _were never meant to wear red and gold, my dear._

_And yet I do._

_Yes, well we already decided that you and Potter are a pair of lost boys._

She blinked in surprise.

_Was that a Peter Pan reference?_

_Muggles may have turned the myth into a bedtime story, but I think Pan was more than just a Greek deity. A boy who never aged? Wouldn't it be grand to be young forever?_

She nearly spilt her ink.

Adult Tom still looked young. Wizards aged differently, sure, but Tom looked _young_.

 _Been researching, have you?_ She asked him, using sheer force of will to keep her quill steady.

_You can't have power if you're old and senile or dead, darling. Hm…that has a pleasant ring to it, doesn't it, My little Wendy Darling?_

_Don't even think about it._

_Kill joy. Would you at least follow me to Neverland?_

She quickly closed the journal without replying, putting it in her satchel with her quill and ink instead. Her trunk was packed, Harry was calling for her from the common room, and she wasn't sure she wanted to admit to Tom that she would likely follow him anywhere so long as he smiled as he led the way.

Ron vanished halfway through the train ride after making up some excuse about wanting to ask Seamus something Quidditch related. But when he didn't return over an hour later, Harry and Hermione knew he had no intentions of doing so.

"Prat," Harry muttered darkly. "He's being stupid."

She shrugged. "Let him. I imagine we'll still get invitations from Molly to spend part of the summer at the Burrow."

Harry gave her an odd look. "She didn't send you a letter yet?"

Hermione started to bristle in the same amount of time it took Harry to realize what had happened.

"Nevermind it, Harry," she said stiffly. "You have fun. Tell Fred, George, and Ginny I said hello."

But Harry was already fishing out a quill from one of his bags.

"I'm not going," he snapped. "Absolutely not. This is ridiculous!"

She didn't bother reminding him that Ronald, by default, was often absurd and ridiculous. She just let him write his letter of refusal and decided to tell him about them being able to switch houses next term if they wanted to. Just so he knew they had options.

Slytherin wouldn't be so bad if Harry went with her, anyhow...

POTTER CASE REOPENED – IS BLACK INNOCENT?

Rita Skeeter

_Yesterday, 9 June 2013, renowned politician and head chairman of the Hogwarts board of governors, Lord Tom Riddle, presented the Wizengamot with an appeal to review the murder trial of James and Lily Potter from 31 October 2001._

_After founding his appeal on startling – though unfortunately undisclosed – new evidence and several transcribed conversations between himself and Sirius Black, former friend and alleged murder of the Potters, Lord Riddle had these words to share with us here at the Prophet yesterday evening:_

_"Anyone with half a mind can view the pensive copies of Mister Black's trial and realize that his confession was given out of guilt, not truth. Veritaserum, while a very useful potion, has been known to fail when faced with distinguishing between a person's perceived truths and legitimate ones. I fear that our legal system failed to save Mister Black from himself and with that possibility in mind, we as lawmakers owe him nothing less than a revision of evidence. If not for his sake, then for his godson's."_

_Unbeknownst to the public until last evenings meeting with Lord Riddle, Black was not only a close friend of the Potter family, but also the godfather to the infamous Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. Having only muggle relatives to go to after the death of his parents limited Mister Potter's access to the magical world, and Lord Riddle has informed us that Black intends to gain custody of his godson should his innocence be proved._

_Mister Potter has not been available to comment on this issue._

_With the Wizengamot in deep discussion today, we anxiously await further developments._

_(See Page 2, Section 4 for details and transcripts from Lord Riddle's interviews with Sirius Black.)_

_Ron,_

_No._

_I'm not excluding Hermione from our summer, especially since you tried to be a sneak about it._

_Get over it, Mate._

_-Harry_

_p.s. Good luck with the Prophet contest._


	11. Sentries and Dursleys

_Hermione,_

_My summer's been great so far, thanks. And yours?_

_It's a pity (though not unexpected) to hear about Weasley's complete and utter lack of tact. Though I am glad to hear that Potter kept his wits about him and that he now knows about your...'sorting conundrum'._

_I've spoken with Mother and Father at length this summer, and can officially extend an invitation to you to spend time at the Manor if you'd like. (Yes, Potter is invited too.) Mother has been quite pleased to learn that our cousin Sirius seems to be innocent, and such a development will make Potter an honorary cousin, so we may as well learn to get along. We have a friend in common now, so we should at least be civil, don't you think?_

_I'm eager to learn of your decision, as well as excited to see you again. We weren't really able to spend much time together last term. It would be nice if you could meet some of the other Slytherins as well...I think they'd grow on you, and of course they can keep a secret._

_As soon as I hear back from you, Father will begin making preparations for you both to travel to Wiltshire, assuming Potter comes along. Perhaps cousin Sirius' trial will wrap up quickly and Potter can meet his godfather before next term._

_Impatiently and dutifully yours,_

_Draco_

* * *

_Draco,_

_Harry and I plan to take the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley. I'll be getting on first, since I've read on how to use it, and will stop to pick up Harry on the way. This way will surely be less of a hassle for your family in regards to collecting us._

_What times and days are preferable for you?_

_(Really? 'Dutifully mine'? Like a sentry?)_

_~Hermione_

* * *

_I can't believe summer is half over, already._

_Salazar, time moves quickly for you._

_Is it truly so drastic?_

_Well, I'm writing you on a brilliantly chilly February evening. What's the date for you?_

_23 June 2013_

_25 February 1963, about fifteen minutes til dinner starts._

_Goodness, it's nearly time for lunch here...I'm about to send for the Knight Bus to get Harry._

_I've been trying to make an arithmancy equation to build into a page of the diary so we always know each other's times. According to what I have right now, you'll be on the train back before dinner on April Fools my time._

_That's...hard to digest._

_It is. I've got more tweaking to do, but I've been trying to line up a table of values..._

_I can tell you the date and time when I write you, if that helps?_

_I'd appreciate that, little Dove. Run along now. Don't you need to get your friend?_

_I do. I'll write again when I get time, okay?_

_I know you will. Have fun at the Malfoys._

* * *

Harry's relatives were dreadful.

 _Dreadful_.

She swept her eyes over the red-faced Vernon, angry and fearful Petunia, and obliviously dense Dudley, not even bothering to hide how unimpressed she was with the lot of them.

"Ready, Harry?" She said brightly from the bottom step of the bus with Stan waiting around behind her. She'd already snapped at him twice for his impatience, once at her home, and once before they'd gotten to Privet Drive. He was weary of her now.

Perhaps she'd spent too much time with Tom this past school year.

She took another look at the hand-me-downs Harry was dressed in and sent another round of dark looks towards the Dursley's. She'd have to take Harry shopping before they went to the Malfoy's.

"Yeah," Harry said, clearly uncomfortable and probably somewhat embarrassed with the circumstances.

She stepped down so Stan could stow away Harry's things. She'd told him to bring all his school stuff, but hadn't expressly told him they'd be spending the remainder of the summer with the Malfoys, assuming all went well. If necessary, she already knew he could spend the rest of the summer with her family, but she certainly wouldn't be knowingly allowing Harry to spend his summers here anymore.

She hoped Draco was right and Sirius Black's trial continued to go smoothly. If the man had been appointed as Harry's godfather by his parents, then surely he was a better person than his dreadful aunt and her horrible family.

All loaded up, Harry and Hermione boarded the Knight Bus. The Dursley's did not bid their nephew farewell, nor did Dudley acknowledge his cousin with more than bored indifference. Harry muttered a "see you next summer" under his breath spitefully, but it only reached her ears.

Contempt settled in Hermione's chest like a dense stone floating to the bottom of a chilly lake.

She needed to talk to Tom. And not the schoolboy on the other end of her journal.

Suddenly struck with an idea, she pulled said journal out of her satchel.

_Any chance of you being able to remember that I need to talk to you at some point on the evening of 23 June 2013?_

_I'll make a note of it. You'll be with the Malfoys by then?_

_Yes._

_Nothing I can do from here, I imagine?_

_Sadly, no._

_I'll endeavor to remember, darling._


	12. The (Technically) Silver Trio

Not thirty minutes after Harry and Hermione had finished replacing Harry's wardrobe and binning his cousin's old rags, did Lucius Malfoy stroll into the Leaky Cauldron. He found the two at a table with their shrunken luggage near a plate of mostly eaten chips. They each had their nose in a book and were quietly working away on what appeared to be a potions essay.

"Miss Granger, Mister Potter," he greeted gently, as not to startle them.

They glanced up and greeted him politely before beginning to pack away their things. He took the time to pay their bill before either could notice and then studied the girl.

She was slightly taller now and a bit less mousy than she had been last summer. Her gaze, once hesitant until provoked, was now more critical and steady. He knew she was still clever thanks to Draco, whose decent marks had improved considerably since befriending the girl. She seemed to be fed well, though the same could not quite be said for the Potter boy.

Lucius hoped he hadn't missed any obvious sign of neglect in the girl. The Dark Lord had mentioned that he would stop by later this evening to check on her, for reasons undisclosed, and Lucius did not want to be on the hexing end of his Lord's wand should he find something amiss with the girl.

Thankfully Narcissa would get a chance to observe the two children before Lord Riddle's arrival as well. Just in case…

Once the two teens had safely stowed their shrunken luggage into their pockets, Lucius asked, "Is there anything else the two of you require before we depart?"

The two shared a glance and seemed to have an entire conversation in the span of a few silent seconds until Potter shrugged.

"Not until we get our supply lists, Mister Malfoy," the girl answered politely.

"Then let us be on our way, shall we?"

* * *

Hermione was very aware of the fact that Lucius could have taken them through a much less public Floo than those available at the ministry, but she said nothing about it at the time. She knew word would get around that _Lucius Malfoy_ was escorting _the_ Harry Potter and Harry Potter's muggleborn friend to his home. And thanks to a well-timed, "I do apologize in advance if Draco has made a crater in the marble of the entryway, children. He's been eagerly awaiting your arrival all day," from Lucius, everyone knew that the two were following Lord Malfoy of their own accord.

Harry was secretly pleased that Ron's father worked at the ministry and wondered how Ron would explain to his family what his 'friends' were doing with the Malfoy clan.

And it turned out that Draco hadn't worn a crater into the marble, but he was nearly vibrating from his spot a polite distance away from the Floo in the Manor's receiving hall. He gave Harry a polite, though somewhat weary, nod that Harry returned evenly.

"Start over?" Draco asked at the same time Harry said "Truce?"

They gave each other hesitant smiles as Hermione stepped through the Floo next.

Harry was surprised when Draco's hesitant smile became a wide grin that was equal parts mischievous as it was warm. And he was even more surprised when Hermione stared the blond down, clearly unimpressed with his display.

Draco put on a sneer. " _Granger_."

Her lips curled with distaste. " _Malfoy."_

A second later Draco was laughing and caught in an infamously tight hug by Hermione, who was grinning as well.

"I missed you, you prat," she told him.

"I missed you too, 'Mione," Draco assured her, waiting a moment longer before releasing her.

Lucius and Narcissa had appeared during the little display, both equally amused with the children in their receiving hall. Draco flushed when he noticed them, but said nothing to defend his actions.

Narcissa winked at Harry and Hermione as she stepped forward. "I've heard so much about you, Miss Granger," she said kindly. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

 _"_ The pleasure's mine, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione responded instantly. "And Hermione's fine."

Narcissa smiled and said, "Hermione it is, then," before repeating the same social courtesies with Harry.

"You children have travelled and shopped the better part of the day, Lucius tells me," said Narcissa, once it had been established that she was also calling Harry by his first name and that both Harry and Hermione were welcome (expected) to call her 'Aunt Cissa' in return. "Dinner should be ready at any moment. Hungry, dears?"

Neither Harry nor Hermione felt as if they'd had several snacks while in Diagon Alley, and Draco was also a growing teen, of course, so all three children were famished. Draco summoned Dobby to take up Harry and Hermione's things to their guest rooms in his wing of the mansion. Dobby was exceptionally happy to meet his favorite master's friends, and enthusiastically appointed himself to his task.

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's a funny one," he said somewhat apologetically.

"I like him," chimed Harry.

And even though Hermione didn't agree with the idea of house elves, she had to admit that Dobby was very pleasant and seemed to enjoy his servitude under the Malfoy family.

Narcissa and Lucius lead their brood to the dining room where they were promptly seated and served tea by two other elves, Ezra and Leeny, who vanished as quickly as they appeared.

Once Harry and Draco started talking about Quidditch, Hermione stopped worrying about whether or not they'd truly be able to move beyond past grievances or not. Any by the time the conversation had morphed from Quidditch tryouts next term to 'y'know Draco, if you've got a spare broom we could practice that way you're sure to make Slytherin' and 'Really? You'd help me out' and 'Why wouldn't I', she knew they'd be right chums by noon the next day.


	13. The Menace

Dinner was nothing short of delicious. With a perfectly aristocratic air of mischief, Narcissa said that she found the most wonderful little recipes during her last trips to France and Italy, and that the house elves positively adored it when she brought home new dishes for them to serve. Hermione had briefly discussed her visit with her parents to muggle Paris before she received her Hogwarts letter, and expressed a wish to explore the wizarding side of the city of lights over dessert.

"I shall endeavor to take you there during a less busy summer, Dove," said a voice from behind her.

She jumped, forgetting about Narcissa entirely as she twisted around in her seat.

It was ridiculous how dashing he was.

When Professor Snape had escorted her to Tom's estate last term, it was clear that he'd been doing whatever schmoozing he did all day by the crispness of his formal dress robes. This time, he was, shockingly, in a pair of very dark muggle jeans with what was clearly a much loved Slytherin-themed argyle sweater under a simple dark green outer robe, which he left unfastened.

His eyes were still disarmingly blue. His smirk was still unsetting.

She tried to keep the nervousness out of her smile.

"You remembered," she said.

The small, cheeky curl of his lips turned into a fond smile as he reached out and smoothed back some of her wild curls.

"I did promise," he said mock defensively, still smiling. "How's summer treating you, darling? I haven't had a chance to check on you what with the trial and all. Severus said your exams went well?"

She nodded earnestly, ignoring Harry's whisper of 'Draco, who is that?' and the corresponding 'Lord Tom Riddle. He's the last descendant of Slytherin and a friend of Father's. And head of the board.'

"I'm excellent," she assured Tom, who was still idly attempting to tame her hair out of her face. "The exams went very well. Professor Snape was an excellent chauffeur. No one dared get in his way for anything, not even at Fortescue's before he took me home."

Tom let out a soft snort of amusement. "Took you for icecream did he? The prat. I told him I'd planned the entire day, but of course more evidence for the trial came up and I wasn't able to take the day off. At least you got your treat for a job well done."

She flushed. "We don't know how I did, the scores haven't come back."

His smirk returned. " _You_ don't know how you did."

She sighed. Of course he knew.

He chuckled at her expense. "Cissa," he said, gaining Narcissa's attention. "Do you think all the sugar would kill her if she got an additional serving of dessert for every Outstanding?"

"Depends on how many she earned," Narcissa replied sweetly.

The heat in Hermione's cheeks increased.

Tom seemed oblivious to her discomfort. "Let me try to remember…Transfiguration, Charms, History, Astronomy, Herbology, Potions – Severus was quite impressed, too – and Defense," he listed, feigning genuine thought. "Thank Salazar that cheat Lockhart didn't do too much damage."

"You'd kill her with that much pie, Tom," said Narcissa before turning to Hermione with a smile. "Well done, darling."

"Straight O's?" Chimed Lucius from the nearest end of the table. "Quite impressive, Miss Granger."

Hermione quietly muttered her thanks.

Tom chuckled again. "I've embarrassed you, Dove, forgive me. I'm simply pleased to show you off, is all."

"S'alright," she mumbled, busying herself with another spoonful of pie before he could make her say more.

"Shall I have Leeny fetch you a plate, Tom?" Offered Narcissa, rising from her seat beside Hermione.

Tom seemed to consider the idea a moment. "Please, Cissa. I've had dinner, but a few bites of something sweet wouldn't be amiss."

Tom, naturally, took Narcissa's vacated seat and sat beside his still blushing charge with an air of amusement.

"I've been terribly rude," He said, addressing the boys. "Hello, Draco. And you must be Harry."

Harry reddened slightly at his name being know. "I am, sir."

Tom's smile switched to its bee charmer setting. "Our Hermione here has told me quite a bit about you, Harry. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

Harry smiled in return, "Same to you."

Hermione resisted the urge to sigh.

Tom was a menace. An utterly brilliant, _dashing_ menace.


	14. Panic

After dessert, Lucius agreed to escort Draco and Harry to the Quidditch pitch that was apparently hidden somewhere deeper on the property. The boys had eagerly followed him out after they each had a chance to properly hug and congratulate Hermione on her exams. Narcissa had also disappeared somewhere after making sure Tom was settled with dessert.

Convenient, that.

"Come, darling," Tom said, rising from the table. "I believe it's safe to assume the library is free. And I do recall you having a specific reason for wanting to see me tonight."

She nodded and rose silently to follow him through the manor. His presence was equal parts calming as it was discomforting, leaving her feeling rather unbalanced. She was pleased to see him again, but had no idea how to act with this version of him compared to the boy waiting for her to return to Hogwarts.

Once the library doors shut behind them he turned and stopped her from proceeding farther into the room.

"Relax," he said firmly, his endless flow of cheer dissolving into the subtle severity she was more familiar with. "I don't bite, Dove."

She dared to raise a brow at him. "You're a snake."

He smirked. "I don't bite _often_ ," he amended.

"I'm just not sure what's appropriate," she admitted. "I don't want to damage the timelines."

"You won't," he assured her. "Think, Dove. _This_ is your reality, your time. I'm here in this time...well, in this time _naturally,_ I should say. I wouldn't be here as I am if you were going to damage something in the next several years," he explained.

Her confusion was obvious.

"It's already happened, darling," he continued. "You are observing and participating in events that have already passed. I would remember if you'd done or said something that had unfortunate side effects."

She toyed with that idea in her a mind a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright, I suppose…"

He nodded and made his way over to a seating space that was cleverly encircled by the large ivory bookcases. Hermione followed dutifully, feeling slightly more at ease with the hierarchy between herself and this Tom as she did so. The circlet of deep emerald cushioned chairs that stood before them was peculiar to her, but she could envision that if some event was hosted, that it would not be odd to find socialites filling the chairs and occasionally glancing up from their books to discuss some topic or another with the group.

Tom took a seat and after a moment's hesitation, Hermione took the chair opposite his so they were face to face. Unfortunately, she hadn't expected him to study her so intently with an unreadable sort of scrutiny.

"What did you want me here for tonight, Dove?" He finally asked after several uncomfortable moments for Hermione.

"I..." She faltered and looked away, trying to ignore the anxiety in her chest.

"Breathe," He ordered. "You're white as chalk. Breathe before you faint."

She tried, but since she didn't understand why she was suddenly so on edge, she ended up panicking further. With a slight downturn of his lips, Tom waved a hand in her direction and snapped his fingers.

With her ability to breathe effectively returned to her, Hermione spent several minutes sucking in precious oxygen and trying to make her head stop spinning. It was only when she had finally gotten her heart rate to slow somewhat that she realized her burning eyes and trembling hands.

"W-what-" she stammered.

"You've been suppressing emotions for too long," Tom stated in a cool, detached tone. "Panic attacks usually pass on their own, but they're quite draining. I was unaware that you started having them this early. The first time you truly had one in my presence was during your fourth year."

"I've never had one before," she said weakly, though she realized she probably would have felt much more drained if he hadn't intervened.

He made a noise of agreement, but still seemed incredibly annoyed to Hermione's eyes.

"I don't want you to fret, but you'll have more. They'll be spaced out, but you will struggle with them for a time," he continued.

"Why?" She asked.

He raised a brow, though this time there was no trace of teasing. "I told you. You suppress, and _repress_ , your emotions more often than not. Only now, you've much more to keep down, much more stress to hide, many more unpleasant feelings to try and ignore. Your mind can only handle it for so long without some sort of backlash. Just be thankful your mind is strong enough to bend backwards if need be, rather than breaking entirely."

She nodded, still unsettled by the experience of a semi-panic attack, and broke eye contact again. His mood was making her feel chastised. Insignificant.

"I'm not upset with you," he said suddenly, his voice slightly gentler. "I'm frustrated that I cannot interfere. I figured once time finally caught up with itself I'd be able to help you more, but I have to let you suffer with certain ails for the sake of history."

She shrugged and wasn't sure how to interpret that.

"I'm fine. Harry's more important."

Thankfully, Tom followed her change of subject without acknowledging that she desperately wanted to stop talking about herself, instead they discussed the Sirius Black trial at length.


	15. Legalities

"Unfortunately, many people have wanted to join my various endeavors and bathe in the shadows of my power and influence. I'm very picky about who I associate with and over time, those who did not meet my standards grew to be so many in number that they banded together," Tom explained. "They've been causing trouble for decades, trying to sully my name and blame me for their malicious deeds in an attempt to ruin my career. I don't have sufficient _legally acquired_ evidence to support a case against Dumbledore, but I know for a fact that he has helped this cult following on several occasions. They are responsible for many tragedies, including the murdering of Harry's parents."

Hermione absorbed that information with a frown. "Then how did Sirius end up in prison for it?"

Tom sighed. "During the time that Severus and Harry's parents were in school, James Potter and Sirius Black were the two 'leaders' of their small group of friends. The other two members were Remus Lupin, who will be your new Defense professor, and a man named Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew wanted to join my ranks, but he's a terribly useless and incompetent wizard, so I had to turn him away. He was extremely envious of the accomplishments of his 'friends' even though Sirius and Remus both suffered in their lives as well, albeit for different reasons..."

Tom paused briefly before he said, "You're to keep this information to yourself, am I clear? I have ways of finding out many things people don't want me to know, so if my younger self happens to stumble across such information, that's no matter. But until everything is settled with the trial, do not discuss this with anyone except for myself and Severus."

"I won't," she promised, and he went on after giving her a quelling stare.

"Pettigrew joined the growing faction of those who would like to see my career in shambles," he told her. "And they decided that the best way to ruin my name was to paint me as a dark wizard who intended on hiding in the ministry and committing crimes via a third party to slowly secure complete control over wizarding Britain, and thereafter, the world."

Hermione made a face. "That's quite dramatic, isn't it?"

He smirked slightly. "A tad. I don't exactly have time for world domination and I'm content with what I have for now, at any rate. I'm sure this will amuse me until I die."

She tried to smile, but she was too busy worrying about what would happen if she pointed out that he didn't look like he was heading anywhere near his deathbed, even though he should be.

"They planned a series of murders, intending to unsettle the sacred twenty-eight by attacking minor pureblood families. Most of the attackers failed to cast the killing curse, or in the case of Mr. Potter, cast it incorrectly. The killing curse _does not work_ if one doesn't truly desire to kill the target at the time of casting. It can hit the wrong target and still kill them as long as when the spell was cast, there was intent to kill behind it. Most people can't cast it at all if they don't mean it, so it's simply a bit of poor luck that Harry was caught by it, scarred, and survived long enough for the public to inflate the whole thing," Tom finished.

She nodded in understanding. "So where's Pettigrew now?"

Tom made an irritated noise. "If I could bring him out in the open now and have him subjected to the Dementors, I would, but alas, my dear, I cannot impact the past."

Worried, she continued, "He's not at the school is he?"

Pressing his lips into a line and shuttering his expression, he hesitantly replied, "Not... _presently_. Just...be careful this term, Dove. Remember the dueling spells I've taught you, just in case. Ask my other self to train with you some more, if you get paranoid."

Frowning, she promised to do all three, and with a sudden change in posture, Tom brought back his bee charmer smile.

"Now, what electives do you plan to take next term?"


	16. Investments

"Don't you already know?" She questioned, giving him an impatient look.

"Cheek," he chided gently, "Be a good girl and answer me properly."

Her lips twisted downward at the reprimand.

"I want to take all of them."

He snorted softly. "I see. You won't have sufficient time to study, let alone sleep, without magical aid you realize?"

She nodded stubbornly.

"You don't need muggle studies. Chuck it," He ordered.

"I'm curious about the wizarding viewpoint," she debated.

"You're a _witch_. You'll soon be viewing through the same looking glass, only things you once found familiar will seem unfamiliar as compared to them starting that way."

Her frown deepened.

"No muggle studies," he insisted.

Feeling slightly bitter, she muttered, "Fine. It's your investment, anyhow."

He switched from pleasant to furious more quickly than he had switched from somber to pleasant moments prior, and fixed her with a glare of an intensity she'd never been on the receiving end of before.

"If I ever," he growled lowly, " _ever_ hear you refer to yourself as my _investment_ again, you'll be taking the next portkey to Beauxbatons, am I clear?"

A chill ran down her spine. "My parents wouldn't-"

"Let me?" He challenged. "Clever bird, didn't you read up on sponsorships? Don't you understand what my position over you means?"

Swallowing thickly, she shook her head. She'd skimmed what little she had been able to find on the subject, but there really wasn't much detailing the specifics…

"It's _guardianship_ ," he snapped. " _Shared legal guardianship_."

She paled. "That doesn't mean they'd just agree to-"

"How difficult do you honestly think it would be to convince two _muggles_ that their _magical_ daughter would be better off in _another_ magical academy? Two muggle who hardly strive to truly understand the other world their daughter lives in?" He asked harshly.

She clenched her hands into fists to try and stop them from shaking.

"You're certain Harry will no longer have to live with the Dursleys once Sirius' name is cleared?" She asked through clenched teeth.

With brow raised warningly, Tom nodded.

"That was all I needed."

His eyes narrowed at her dismissal, but she stared him down with suppressed impatience and neutral politeness. He may not like to have it thrown in his face, but she knew better than to assume she was anything but a pawn. Both the Tom Riddle before her and the Tom Riddle waiting for her to respond in the journal were control-focused individuals. She'd be a fool to think she was anything but an advantage, a tool, that the Slytherin would cultivate for his own purposes.

She knew their friendship was more one-sided than he cared to admit.

"Please let Harry know that I'll be around again in a few days to discuss his godfather with him," Tom said, breaking their staring contest and standing. He turned to leave without waiting for her to respond.

Or a goodbye.

She told herself she wasn't disappointed by his abrupt departure. She told herself that she accepted their uneven relationship for what it was.

She wasn't lying to herself.

She wasn't.


	17. Snuffles

Harry was as nervous as Cissa was excited.

Hermione watched with mild interest as Lady Malfoy busied herself and the elves with preparations for the arrival of Sirius and Lord Riddle. Narcissa was so very pleased that her cousin, the last living male in the Black line, had been released that morning.

Even though Harry was excited to meet his godfather and hoping the man truly did intend to take him away from his horrid aunt and uncle, he still confided some of his anxieties to Hermione the night before. Namely, that perhaps Sirius would find suddenly being responsible for a young teen as too much work after a period of time.

Hermione hoped that such would not be the case, reminding Harry that Sirius would have been properly advised and questioned before Tom would have been willing to financially and politically support a custody trial. Combined with the occasional anecdote from a wistful Narcissa reiterating how close Sirius had been with the Potters, Harry was able to keep the majority of his anxieties in check.

So when the time finally came and Lord Tom M. Riddle was followed into Narcissa's coziest drawing room by an attractive, if not somewhat weary, man who looked just a bit older than his thirty-three and a half years, Hermione slipped her hand into Harry's in an attempt to ease any lingering anxieties.

Sirius Black was pale, but in a way that spoke of newly regained color and health, with the trademark grey eyes associated with the Black family line, and stunningly curly black hair that was freshly trimmed at his shoulders. His robes were new and casual, and he wore muggle jeans and a simple grey t-shirt under them. He looked like a man ready to start a new life.

His eyes scanned the room briefly, noting the exits and quickly counting heads, before he zeroed in on the only particularly unruly dark mop in the room, and whatever Tom had been talking to him about as they entered fell on entirely deaf ears.

Harry was unconsciously squeezing the life out of Hermione's hand as she stood with him near the sofas tastefully arranged around an old ornate coffee table. He'd been too nervous to sit but she knew if she let him he'd wear holes into the pretty white peacock and narcissus flower patterned Persian rug staving off the chill of the dark marble floors.

Narcissa played her part by welcoming her cousin home and offering everyone tea, helping everyone else pretend that they weren't watching the silent, emotionally charged staring contest between the man who'd lost everything and the boy who hardly had anything at all.

"I don't expect you to remember me," Sirius said quietly after several more moments of Tom, Lucius, and Narcissa making idle small talk to fill the silence. "But I want you to know that I remember you quite well. You were just barely walking the last time I saw you…didn't even come up to my knee…"

Harry swallowed thickly. "I-I remember a bit…Hagrid gave me a photo album. I think. I…I know we had a cat. I remembered playing with it a few times once I saw the pictures…" He paused to take a steadying breath. "How come there weren't any pictures with the dog?"

Sirius blinked. "You didn't have a dog."

Harry frowned and shook his head. "We did. It was black and it laid in my crib with me sometimes, for kips or something, I suppose."

Hermione had to blink a few times when she saw the tears well in Sirius' eyes.

"You remember that?"

The way he whispered the words, as if Harry had just presented him with some great treasure, made Hermione think of her first day in Transfiguration with McGonagall.

"You're an Animagus," she said quietly.

Harry glanced quickly at Hermione, then back at Sirius with an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

"That was you?" He asked.

Sirius didn't seem to notice the tears trailing down his cheeks as he replied, "That damn cat of your mother's was a saint one minute and a menace the next. Your father refused to call it its proper name – Jiji, Lily said it was a muggle reference – so we ended up calling the thing Petunia more often than not. If the cat was in a mood, it would come scratch you up for no good reason, so I'd stay with you to ward off the bipolar beast…"

Draco passed Hermione a handkerchief that she discretely passed to a shaking, teary Harry.

"Snuffles," he choked out.

That one word seemed to remind Sirius that he could move, and he closed the distance between himself and his godson, giving Harry a firm, long overdue hug.

Hermione's hand was freed from Harry's in favor of clinging to Sirius, and she quietly stepped away from the private moment. Only when Tom, bearing a mildly concerned expression, presented her with a handkerchief of her own did she realize her cheeks were damp.

Her lips quivered when she heard Harry's muffled plea for Sirius not to send him back to the Dursley's because the real Petunia was worse than a bipolar cat. She had to resist moving forward again when Harry continued by explaining that at least the cat had been kind _sometimes_ and had never hit him with frying pans or locked him in a bloody cupboard.

Tom pet her hair comfortingly as Sirius dropped down, held Harry by the shoulders, and swore on his magic that Harry would never, ever, be left under the Dursley's care again.


	18. Snuffles Pt. II

Sirius was put up in a guest room not too far from Draco's wing, and thus, not too far from Harry's dwellings, which was a great comfort to both godfather and godson. He and Narcissa cleared any and all remaining bad blood between them in a conversation that was so thick with double and triple meanings, and family specific references, that Harry was surprised to learn that his godfather had been a Gryffindor instead of following the family trend of Slytherin.

"I really didn't want to be surrounded by the crap my family was always spewing, you know?" Sirius had explained. "The Sorting Hat is a nifty bit of magic. Put me in Gryffindor instead so I wouldn't have to deal with it all."

The glance shared by Draco, Hermione, and Harry at the revelation didn't go unmissed by the ex-Marauder, who realized he was about to be given a crash course on his godson's life without having to ask. He only barely managed to accept his tea from Dobby before the triad seemed to come some sort of decision and Hermione took charge of storytelling. Sirius listened with rapt attention as the teens gave him a thorough rundown of their Hogwarts careers thus far, with the occasional addition of forgotten information by the others in the room. Sirius found that the more Hermione talked, the more she reminded him of Regulus. Harry did too, but Harry looked so much like James and was so similar to Lily in temperament that the effect was less so. Sirius was pleased that Harry had someone like Hermione in his corner, not to mention the viciously protective potential of the Black-Malfoy love child who had clearly grown quite fond of the Gryffindors-in-name-only.

"Whether you decide to switch houses or not is entirely up to you, Harry," Sirius told him when they'd finished. "You're still just Harry no matter what colors your scarves are or where your common room is."

Thankfully, Dobby and Ezra popped in to announce that Leeny was ready to serve lunch before too many more cathartic tears were shed.

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Draco were up rather late that night. Not because they stayed up with the adults. They hadn't. But rather because Harry was as equally in need of sleep as he was unable to find it. And Hermione was using the extra energy she had to talk to her other Tom while the three sat on Harry's bed together. It was the nicest bed Harry had ever had, and also the biggest, easily making it so that Harry could be situated snuggly under the covers on one side while Draco laid atop the duvet on the other and Hermione was stretched out at the foot of the bed.

"He's perfect," Harry told the ceiling absently.

"Did they really keep you in a cupboard?" Draco asked quietly.

"Yeah..." Harry muttered. "Until my Hogwarts letters started to show up. They were addressed to 'the cupboard under the stairs'. Dursleys were afraid they'd been caught."

Hermione made a noise that was full of the contempt she felt for Harry's muggle relatives.

"Well, they aren't off the hook. Sirius doesn't strike me as the type to let that sort of thing slide, not to mention _someone_ was supposedly checking on you twice a year to make sure you being properly cared for. Obviously those reports were fabricated. Tom is going to handle it, I think, but I highly doubt Cissa isn't going to get involved. You're kin now, after all," She said idly as she waited for Tom's next reply in the journal.

Harry nodded against his pillows, but his eyes never strayed from the ceiling.

"He cares about me," he said.

"He loves you," corrected Hermione.

"We all do," Draco added. "We're cousins now. That's significant, especially in Mum's eyes. And mine."

Harry didn't know how to respond, so he continued to stare at the ceiling that had morphed into a painting of the night sky at dusk and watched the faintly twinkling stars.

Eventually, Draco and Hermione grew too tired to stay up, but both told Harry he could wake them if he needed them. Harry didn't have the energy to assure them he was fine, but did manage to muster up a goodnight to each of them and return Hermione's gentle parting hug.

Another few hours passed, though time seemed to stand still in the quiet bedroom. Harry spent the time tracing the constellations he recognized on the ceiling until the door quietly cracked open, followed by the faint shuffling of paws on wood.

Sirius had intended to simply check in on his should-be-sleeping godson and was concerned to find the boy still awake. He immediately went over to the side of the bed and leapt up to rest his front paws on the mattress while he sniffed worriedly. Harry reached out to pet him behind the ears as Sirius let out an inquiring whine. His meaning went perfectly understood.

"Can't sleep," Harry muttered wearily. His eyes burned from all the tears he'd shed and even though he still felt like tears should be falling, no more came.

Sirius whined again and licked Harry's wrist before backing a small ways away from the bed. Harry almost smiled when he managed to, quite gracefully, jump up onto the bed, and was relieved when Sirius snuggled up beside him on his pillow.

He did smile when a cool nose pressed into his cheek and several gentle licks followed. Turning so that he was facing Sirius, Harry moved closer to the warmth provided his soft fur, keeping one arm curled so he could keep petting him behind the ears.

And slowly, finally, they both managed to get some sleep.


	19. Grimmauld

Once the wards at Number 12 Grimmauld Place were recast to reflect the current master's views on blood status and protective preferences, the only thing left to do before the house was fit for Sirius and Harry to move into was a very thorough cleaning and some significant remodeling.

Kreacher was introduced to the Malfoy elves, who helped reteach the grumpy, neglected elf proper etiquette and servitude practices. At first he resisted, but the elf was not blind to the changes Sirius had undergone since his school days. He also quickly picked up on the similarities between Young Master Harry, Miss 'Mione, and his dearly missed Master Regulus. Once new habits had been established, Kreacher was able to pull out of his depression, and though he was still a bit prickly compared to elves like Dobby, he regained his great pride in serving and taking care of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

With all the boggarts removed, furniture replaced or restored, and particularly dark artifacts safely stored away in the Black family vaults, the structural integrity of the house was updated, removing any bent or awkwardly leaning parts of staircases and walls.

Every carpet and plank of hardwood was replaced, as were any outdated utilities or light fixtures. The rugs were sent off for restoration and repair while every wall was stripped and repainted. Tom had used a particularly questionably spell that removed Walburga Black's portrait from the entry hall and she was sent to live in the vaults as well.

Harry and Hermione—who had been assured that she was being given a room at Number 12, since she was essentially Harry's sister—were in charge of helping Sirius decide the colors for each room. They all agreed to choose cool and neutral colors to brighten and lift the despair that had settled into the house over time, sticking to blues, greens, purples, creams, light beiges, dull silvers, and combinations within.

The entry way was redone in a mosaic blue, with the trims and door frames done in a dark pewter. The kitchen was redone in dolphin blue with the simpler, more modern cabinets refinished in light cream, and the windows and trims in a blueish silver that complimented the periwinkle-pewter coating on the new stone floors. The dining room had the same flooring and accent colors, but the walls were a stony hue of mint.

All the bathrooms had been redone with smoky blue violet walls and a blend of white and stone accents that reflected nicely off the polished black marble flooring.

Harry chose a pale stony color for the main walls of his bedroom with a slightly shimmery charcoal for the trim, window sills and door. He had a desk against the one wall that was done entirely in black chalkboard paint for summer studying. His floors were hardwood and stained a dark grey, and his furniture was also finished in similar shades. There were thin diagonal ribbons of green paint on the stone colored walls that lessened the maturity of the space while still being tasteful. It also alluded to Harry's true house affiliation, which he found some comfort in.

After some encouraging from Harry, who pointed out that she hadn't been feeling very close to her actual parents and deserved a home in the magical world as well, Hermione managed to pick a shade for her bedroom walls that was similar to the blue violet in the bathrooms, only slightly less vibrant and slightly more grey-blue in hue. Some tasteful literary quote decals were put up on three of the walls, while she too had a chalkboard wall with a desk. The letters of her decals were in a lightly green tinted silver and were charmed to move around the walls, disappearing and reappearing randomly when they weren't being read.

Tom had suggested a dark Arcadia blue for the trim that was very similar to her main walls in its slightly muted shade, and had been adamant about being the one to purchase her new furnishings. The furnishings included her new desk, several free floating greyish-white shelves that were arranged from floor to ceiling in the corner near her study space, as well as shaped out in a tree pattern beside the door on the wall across from her bed. She had a small, very modern chaise near the tree-shelf with nooks carved out of the body for more book storage, and a very soft circular rug for the reading area.

Her four poster bed was very modern with silver cloth wrapped around the top of the curtain rods and curtains that were charmed to roll up rather than being pulled to the sides. She had the tiny—not too bright—fairy lights clustered about the room that morphed into the constellations she would have seen if her walls didn't block the sky; similar to the painted ceiling from Harry's room at Malfoy Manor, which had been recreated in his new bedroom.

All in all, their new dwellings were coolly colored, making the atmospheres within very peaceful and smart with their clean edges and muted color schemes. When Draco had been invited over to see the finished products, he had grinningly commented that they had recreated the feel of the Slytherin common room without the slight dampness of the dungeons and all the worn stone.

The best part, at least according to Harry, was that his room and Hermione's were only separated by what used to be two smaller bedrooms. Both bedrooms had been combined into a sort of antechamber for the two to share when they had friends over. The space also allowed them to spend time together somewhere outside of their personal spaces. The room, nicknamed 'the hollow' by its owners, combined the color schemes of their bedrooms and included a charmed waterfall along the back wall that hid the windows while still letting in the natural light—if only tinging it slightly blue in the process.

"Like it?" Sirius had asked when Harry discovered the water feature and called Hermione away from all the books Tom had stocked her pretty shelves and most of the compartments of her chaise with.

"Gryffindors tend to find a nice fire more relaxing," Sirius continued when they were still too shell shocked to speak. "But Slytherins are partial to water. I figured you'd both like this a bit better."

"It's perfect," Harry said at last, finally tearing his eyes away from the structure long enough to look at Hermione for her input.

She sighed wistfully. "How am I ever supposed to pick a favorite place to read in this house?"

"Just wait til it rains," teased Sirius. "Riddle made it so the smell would come through the waterfall."

"I've never wanted a rainy day so much," said Harry.

Neither had Hermione.


	20. Tom and Remus

London gifted Harry and Hermione with over a week of rain, during which the two were rarely found outside the Hollow. Kreacher kept them well supplied with tea and cast plentiful warming charms on the blankets and large soft cuts of carpet that protected them from the chill of the hardwood floors.

Tom had stopped by to check in on Harry and Hermione the day the Prophet announced that Dementors would be stationed at the school while the manhunt for Pettigrew continued. He was also present to inform Sirius that he officially had sole custody of Harry and that the Dursley situation was still being discussed. Tom also mentioned that he had a lot of people with strong views on child abuse involved to ensure that the most appropriate punishment would be dealt to Harry's awful relatives.

They sat in Sirius' favorite drawing room, the one that had a grey, grey blue, and carbon color scheme with large windows to let in the overcast light. It was a very comfortable space to have tea as they discussed the teens huddled together upstairs.

"She's good for him," Sirius said as Kreacher briefly popped in to pour him another cup of Lady Earl Grey. "Even when they're not busy, she doesn't just let him mull about and overthink things. Poor kid still seems to think there's a shoe that hasn't dropped, but she manages to distract him from that thought spiral."

"Hermione is more familiar with feeling unwanted than you might think," Tom responded carefully. "Her parents love her, they do, but they both work full time and she wasn't exactly planned. Throw in her being a witch and they're even less connected to her. Not to mention that she's smarter than Athena herself, so Salazar knows she's had trouble making friends."

Sirius nodded somberly. "I noticed. Draco gave me the rundown of what happened with one of Molly's boys. I'm glad those three found each other when they did, given the Weasley boy's shite behavior. It's no wonder their friendship with him didn't last all that long. Molly's always been a quick tempered, vindictive woman under all that motherly affection."

A muscle twitched in Tom's jaw. "I hope for their sake that the Weasleys watch their steps. The next few years are going to be hard enough on her and I won't stand by while some ginger rat tries to upset my Hermione," He said darkly.

Sirius raised a brow. "What makes you say that?" He asked.

Tom sipped his tea. "Noticed the diary she carries around?"

"Yeah," Sirius answered. "She's always got that thing and a quill with her. I assumed it was connected to a friend. Draco maybe."

Tom smirked. "It's connected alright. Through time. She's made friends with someone who, in present day, hasn't been a Hogwarts student for fifty years."

Sirius tried not to laugh. "You, Mate? Truly?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "You think I'd take such good care of her _just_ because she's smart? She's invaluable to me, even if she doesn't know it yet."

Sirius couldn't suppress his smirk. "What'd you do, date through time?"

Tom's smirk widened as he purposefully played with the silver band on his left hand. "You could say that, yes."

Sirius raised a questioning brow as the band glinted in the muted lighting.

"She can't see it," Tom stated. "It's charmed for now. Once time overlaps, she'll figure out what I'm here for, but right now she just thinks I'm securing her as a tool in my arsenal. It will be a while before either of us realizes she's more than that."

Sirius snorted. "No wonder you've got fingers in damn near every political pie. She's untouchable."

Tom took a bite out of a chocolate chip biscuit as he leaned against the sofa smugly.

* * *

On a quiet day where the sun and the clouds were constantly battling for dominance, a gentle knock came from the front door of Number 12.

Kreacher answered it as Sirius came down the hall with a hand on the wand in his pocket, just in case, but as he rounded the corner he realized he wouldn't need it.

Standing in the entry hall with décor Sirius still wasn't quite used to, was none other than Mister Moony.

"You look like shite, Mate," Sirius said fondly. "Rough monthly?"

Remus couldn't even muster up a small level of annoyance, grinning at his friend. "A bit," he admitted. "You've no idea how happy I am that you're innocent, Padfoot."

Kreacher took Remus' coat and shut the door as the old friends shared a quick embrace, before Sirius grinned impishly.

"He's mine," he said.

"So the Prophet says," teased Remus. "How is he?"

"James owes Lils twenty galleons," Sirius continued. "She was right, Harry did grow up to favor his father, but gods, does he act just like his mother. Her relatives were utter shite to him all this time, but we're working on that. He's put on some needed weight. Gained a few inches too, according to my cousin. I suppose he has gained an inch or two since we moved in here, but he must have sprouted up a bit while he was staying at Malfoy Manor."

Remus smiled and seemed to relax further. "He's transitioning okay? I can't imagine he remembers anyone."

Sirius' smile widened and became more serious. "He remembers me laying with him in his crib and keeping that damned cat from scratching him up. Even remembered that he called me Snuffles."

"I'm glad," Remus said with a relieved expression. "I imagine this whole ordeal would have been much harder for him if he had no basis at all for his relationship with you."

Sirius shrugged and, after a pointed look from an impatient Kreacher, ushered Remus towards the drawing room. "To be honest," he said, dropping his voice, "He was so starved for affection that I don't think it would have made too much of a difference. I think the main thing is that he has his own memory of proof that I do truly care about him, instead of needing to take my word for it."

Kreacher was arranging tea and a tray of sandwiches as they entered the drawing room. Remus thanked him kindly as he was passed a cup, and Sirius settled in across from Remus with a small plate and a few sandwiches.

"He's such a good kid, Moony," Sirius said after a few bites. "His best friend is staying here too. Sweet little thing. Muggleborn. Good influence."

Remus smiled. "Lord knows James' son would need one of those."

Sirius chuckled. "They're in Gryffindor together, but they both should have been in Slytherin. I don't think they've decided to switch yet, but I get the feeling it's on the horizon."

"They asked the Hat?" Remus asked. "Like you did?"

"Yeah. I just hope that when one goes the other switches too, you know? I'd hate for Harry to be separated from her when she's such an important segment of his emotional support group."

"I'll keep an eye on them," Remus said, smirking at Sirius' confusion. "In Defense at least."

Sirius grinned widely his friend and found his worries for the upcoming term to be significantly lessened. Harry would be just fine with another Marauder looking out for him.


	21. Vicious Timing

After much planning and discussion, Sirius decided that it would probably be best to split the school shopping for the upcoming term into two trips. The first would be before the usual school shopping rush, while the second would take place closer to September and would be a joint outing with the Malfoys. It was possible that some of Draco’s Slytherin friends would be along as well, but that was entirely dependent upon how Harry and Hermione felt about having more people know their secret.

For today’s excursion, however, only the three inhabitants of Grimmauld Place would be participating. Narcissa had assured her cousin of the least busy times to venture into the Alley, which Sirius discussed with his two charges so that the decision was made democratically. Once it was decided that they would go after the evening rush, they all went back to their favorite places within the house while time moved along.

As lovely as their bedrooms were, no one wanted the novelty of the remodeled home to be diminished by cabin fever, so everyone was glad to get away for a while. 

Diagon Alley was pleasantly devoid of people, _especially_ Flourish and Blotts, to Hermione's ardent pleasure. With great amusement, Sirius suggested they start at the bookstore, pulling an unintentional noise of delight from the bookworm he'd grown so fond of.

Tom had told him to keep his ear open in case she mentioned her parents at all. Sirius hadn't specifically asked what issues sat waiting for her in her muggle home, but Tom had implied that she would not be part of the small percentage of muggleborns who seamlessly blended both worlds into their lives.

"She's going to have a time of it until about her fifth year," Tom had told him during his most recent check-in visit. "Unfortunately a lot of the stress she'll face will be due to her association with me in some way or another, and her muggle life will simply be one of the casualties of her transition."

Tom hadn't told Sirius what 'transition' was supposed to mean, but Hermione was such an important balancing force for Harry and meshed so well in their home dynamic that Sirius had absolutely no qualms about her becoming a permanent resident. Even if the Potters hadn't opened their arms to him when his home life became a source of negativity, Sirius wouldn't have turned the girl away. It would be easier to just let her gradually phase into things than to make it obvious to her that her previous life was slipping away.

So it was with an indulgent smile that Sirius trailed behind Harry as they entered the store. Hermione was already hidden somewhere amongst the shelves, likely reaching into her right pocket every once and a while to fish out the leather diary she always had with her and write a reply to the fifth year prefect on the other side of it.

"We'll have to drag her out of here, you know," Harry said quietly from his side.

When Sirius glanced down at Prongslet, still not quite used to how much he'd grown in twelve years or how much he looked like his father, he found the boy grinning at him. And like always, it was somewhat hesitant.

He still hadn't figured out how to convince Harry that there wasn't a shoe hanging around on a thin cord somewhere.

Or a frying pan poised to strike him.

Or a cupboard door ready to be locked.

"I always thought 'bibliophile' was a stupid word," Sirus said, grinning back, "But I suppose its sole purpose was to be synonymous with 'Hermione'."

Harry snickered as they leisurely browsed the stacks. Sirius had no complaints about how near Harry stayed, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders as they meandered to and fro. He did, however, wish he knew how to convince his godson that he wouldn't vanish if Harry let him out of sight.

They picked out the few generic textbooks that Harry knew he needed even though he didn't yet have his supply list. They also grabbed a few other titles on various subjects that Harry took interest in. Eventually they found Hermione in the history section a little while later, sitting in the aisle surrounded by four books, one of which had a small pile of coins stacked on the cover.

She didn't notice them. Sirius patted Harry's shoulder and quietly informed him that he'd be in the next aisle over before leaving the two be.

"Something the matter, Hermione?"

She glanced up in surprise, pen poised over her leather journal as if she'd been about to write something, and gave him a small smile.

"Not really," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Mum and Dad understand the conversion rates of muggle to wizarding money, but that doesn't mean they understand exactly how much a galleon is worth, you know?" She shrugged, still wearing that smile that he didn't quite believe, and added, "It's no big deal."

Sirius, who absolutely was not standing on the other side of the bookshelf Hermione had camped out against, was also absolutely not eavesdropping very intentionally. He _was_ browsing the many Goblin war themed titles before him. Even though he had heard the words _completely by accident_ , he idly thought that Hermione was full of shite.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry," she assured. "It just means that I can only get one book instead of two if I want to do anything in Hogsmeade."

"But I thought your sponsor would be giving you money for Hogsmeade," Harry said, confusion lacing his tone.

She got quiet. "He will," she said in a strange tone. "I just...I don’t..."

The bell by the door chimed in the background as more late evening shoppers entered the store.

Hermione fumbled and struggled to come up with an answer, but kept trying nonetheless.

"It's just...I-I'm not..." She groaned. "He shouldn’t," she said at last, finally forming a full thought. "He just shouldn't."

Perhaps it was Sirius' own experience being uncomfortable with accepting financial support from the Potters that allowed him to hear the self-loathing in her voice. He frowned. Trust him, and Harry for that matter, to pull a James and build their immediate social circle with emotionally insecure teenagers.

"Did something happen, 'Mione?" Harry asked her hesitantly. "You weren't like this before. You were excited when you first found out..."

"Harry, I really don't want to talk about it," she said quietly, and Sirius guessed that her eyes were begging him to let it go.

But this was Prongslet. _Prongs. Let._ Prongsy McProngstien II. So the subsequent low growl of " _Did he hurt you_ " came as absolutely no surprise to Sirius.

"No!" Hermione whispered harshly. "Gods, Harry! Of course not."

"Then _what happened_?" Harry pressed. "You've been funny about him since that night at Draco's. You were acting strangely when we were picking out furniture for our rooms and I thought you'd faint when he hugged you before he left. _What's wrong_?"

" _Nothing_ ," she insisted. " _Please_ , Harry. Just drop it." 

Harry sighed heavily at the same time Sirius' ears picked up the distinct and familiar sound of a pair of particularly high quality pair of dragonhide boots.

"Drop what exactly, Dove?"

Sirius had to hand it to Riddle. The bastard had downright vicious timing.


	22. Power Plays

Hermione really didn't want to turn around.

Never mind that she'd been so clouded by the suddenness and severity of how disconnected she was from her parents, her _home_ , that she couldn't even successfully keep Harry from worrying. She also hadn't been able to come up with a viable excuse for why she didn't want to spend Tom's money at Hogsmeade.

And _of course_ he just _has_ to be book shopping the _first time_ she's in public after having relocated to Grimmauld Place.

The sudden realization that her lip hurt and the taste of copper on her tongue snapped her quickly back into reality.

A reality in which a very displeased Tom Riddle was stewing behind her, not-so-patiently waiting for her to explain whatever he had overhead.

_Probably a lot._

Her nearly frozen joints caused a very bitter voice in the back of her head to point out that she really _really_ had no business in Gryffindor if this display of cowardice was anything to go by.

"Hermione," He said from behind her. Each syllable enunciated with perfect care.

She managed to turn so her back was to the shelf behind her again, but did not move so that she was facing him directly. 

"Lord Riddle," she said weakly, wincing when she met his hard stare.

Even when she gave up on maintaining eye contact in favor of studying the book covers at her feet, his gaze on her held steady. 

Harry fell quiet in favor of observing the guilt and discomfort radiating from his best friend, realizing that he really didn't understand what was going on.

"Try again," Tom said in a voice that left the slightest bit of room for only the foolish to argue.

Hermione came quite close to squeezing into that small space while she hesitated, before amending her address with a nearly silent "Tom..."

"We've discussed this," He continued, his voice unwavering and his piercing stare still fixed on her, even though she had no intentions of returning it.

"I didn't say 'investment'," she mumbled lamely, and Harry wondered what made that word significant. "There's nowhere that states I _have_ to spend your money."

"Hermione," Tom repeated.

Her eyes flicked up for the briefest of moments.

"You will."

And back to the floor they went.

Tom's eyes finally broke away from her to roll upwards as he slowly drew in a breath. It seemed to Harry that the older man was hoping oxygen would give him patience, but Harry was pretty certain that no amount of controlled breathing would lessen the ire from whatever travesty Hermione had apparently committed.

Ignoring her obvious discomfort, Tom took two steps before dropping down beside her feet and began stacking the books she'd been trying to choose between into a neat pile.

"You are going to continue your shopping excursion," Tom said in that same eerily cool tone, "And when you find a volume that strikes your fancy, I expect to find it piled with these on the front desk."

"I have plenty of books," She tried to argue.

"And you can inhale an average sized novel in about an hour," Tom volleyed, holding up the smallest volume in the pile as an example. "Books," he continued pointedly, "Are knowledge. You gain knowledge by learning, _reading_."

"I'm familiar with the concept," she muttered indignantly.

"Then use that brilliant little mind of yours to realize that I am more than within my rights to supply you with anything that I decide to consider _educational_ ," He said smoothly and he stood with her books tucked under one arm.

She made a face at him and he arched a challenging brow. "I expect four more books would be the minimum your bibliophilic self would be content with," Tom told her, and even though it sounded offhanded, it was nothing short of an order. "The _minimum_."

"Why do you do this?" She asked him, even though he'd already won and she knew it.

Tom smiled his dangerous smile as he reached out to smooth back and pet the stubborn curls near her face.

"You're clever, Dove," He said cheekily, "You'll figure it out eventually." He paused a moment, his sharky smile morphing into more of an amused grin. "Actually, you won't," he amended. "So I suppose I should say that the answer will be _revealed_ to you eventually."

"You sound like Trelawney," drawled a low voice that came from the other aisle Sirius could have eavesdropped from.

"No one asked you, Severus," Tom said loud enough for his voice to carry, moving his hand from Hermione's hair to wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. "Come, Darling, you've shopping to finish."

Hermione followed helplessly as he first dropped off her books at the counter before he steered her through every section she cared about. If she made the mistake of so much as glancing towards the bindings of any volume with even the most minor level of interest, he'd pluck the tomb off the shelf with zero hesitation. Her protests were, of course, spoken in vain.

She had a tantalizing total of thirty-six new books to her name by the time he'd released his hold on her shoulders, and she nearly died right there in the middle of the store when she heard the total. It offered her very little comfort that several of the new volumes were school books. He’d already bought her enough books to turn her room into a miniature library! It was nothing short of luck that she probably had room for the new ones as well.

Tom seemed to sense her sudden lightheadedness, because without turning away from the cashier, he reached an arm behind him and pulled her into his side.

"Put it on my account, would you, Barry?" Tom said. "I haven't had a chance to head to the bank and get her personal accounts set up yet."

"What accounts?" She asked.

One of his hands found its way back to her hair. "Never you mind, Dove. Never you mind."

 


	23. Patience

"I don't like you," Hermione said as they left Flourish and Blotts.

"That's not a very nice thing to say to the person holding you upright," he responded, feigning extreme disappointment at her manners. "Especially when it's not true."

They walked slower than the others, lagging behind because of the unsteadiness she didn't seem one-hundred-percent aware she was suffering from. Her feet weren't quite dragging, but she was leaning much more heavily on him than she had since...

He frowned and stopped that train of thought before it started.

_I fixed it once and I'll fix it again. That's all that matters._

"Why'd you tell Draco to give me the book?" she asked. "Why not prevent it all?"

The question startled him, though it shouldn't have, really. She thought she wasn't important to him at present.

"It won't always be like this…" he said carefully, before slowly letting out a sigh. "Hermione, if I could tell you what the next few years would be like I would, but there's so very little I can interfere with until the end of your fourth year."

"Why?"

"Because life isn't fair." He squeezed her shoulders, wishing more than anything that he could take her to Proserpine Park, throw her into the pensive he kept full of copied memories, and show her all the reasons why he didn't see her as an object. Or rather, why his younger self would

"Promise me something, Dove?"

He felt her shift slightly to look up at him.

"Don't give up on me?"

Her brows came together as her lips formed a pout. "What do you mean?"

He sighed again. How naïve he was to think that being on this side of the situation would be better. How _stupid_ he was to think his part on both sides of time wouldn't come with equal hardship.

"No matter how much of a prat I may or may not be," he said softly, "Don't let me convince you that I want you to leave."

He glanced down at the deeply confused pout that was _exactly_ the same as he remembered, because _she_ was exactly the same. He was the one simultaneously viewing her life – their lives — from two different angles.

"Would I be here if you didn't matter?" He asked her, trying his damndest to keep his voice neutral.

Her frown deepened, and with a mentally mumbled usage of legilimens, he found himself back in the familiar landscape of her mind. It was rather dark at present, as puberty and life were putting her through the ringer. Gently, he sifted through memories and thoughts until he found the dim little glow for her connection to her parents, then the larger, murky orb for himself strewn about near Harry's bright pearl and Draco's slightly dimmer one.

The colors and shadows around Tom's orb were not quite as thick as they had been the last time he saw them this way, but it was still enough to cause an unpleasant stirring in his chest. They would get darker as the light got lighter.

Every time she saw him, spoke to him, wrote him, she was flooded with a mixture of happiness and nearly crippling despair.

All she wanted was for him to value her as a person.

All she needed was for an equal to not see her as a tool.

 _A chess piece_ , he thought sourly, thinking back to a conversation he'd overheard in a place he shouldn't have been in, while in a time he hadn't belonged to. It was a term that would forever burn hot and bitter in his chest, right alongside 'investment.'

"Promise," he repeated as he carefully watched little connections and colors swirl around behind her eyes. Thoughts collided. The brilliance of her warm, complicated little mind stunned him as it always had while it worked to do something as simple as deciding how to answer him.

"Eventually I won't be useful," she murmured.

"You will _never_ be useless, Dove."

Something about his tone made those words, the idea that she would always be of use to him, cross into the black and white world of her subconscious. The thought became a tendril of light and turned into a little white book, a bright replica of his diary, before it made its way over to the sparsely covered ivory shelf in the library that held her worldly laws. Several of the diary's twins rested beside it, though they were more solid than the newest edition.

He knew, or at least he could guess, what truths were already there.

Tom is complex.

Tom needs order and control.

Tom doesn't care much for Quidditch.

Tom doesn't care much for anyone.

Tom is dangerous.

There were also black bookcases that held the negative concepts she considered to be true. One such case held _several_ black copies of his diary and somewhere among them was one that had eaten through the shelves like corrosive acid in its quest to conquer. Tom knew it wanted to reach the floor so it could tear through that as well and spread to other areas of her subconscious.

He knew what it said.

He knew that one day his sixteen-year-old self would find it, first in passing, then with intent.

He knew it was causing her pain and panic attacks and heartache.

It took all his self-discipline to leave it alone instead of ripping it out like the infection it was, because she had to live with it and he had to let her.

_I just have to get her through fourth year..._

"Promise," he murmured again.

She nodded silently and he retreated from her mind with the type of ease that came from years of practice.

Dropping a kiss to the top of her hair, he muttered a quiet "Good girl" and notified the others that he was taking her to get food.

She didn't notice when Severus passed him two vials of potion before he steered her away from the group. She didn't notice when he dumped both vials into her apple juice at the little cafe he pulled her into, or that he ordered for her. Or that he had to keep gently reminding her to eat.

Slowly the potions did their job and a little more alertness made its way back into her eyes.

After all, it's so very taxing on the mind to be faced with opposing information while being so thoroughly wrapped up in denial and misconceptions. So very taxing, in fact, that Tom still didn't understand how she was able to form a patronus _at all_ or how she managed to make one that was corporeal and dazzlingly bright. Yet he remembered that cheeky python of hers, the one that represented him.

He pulled one of his old pocket sized planners from his robe while Hermione was finally revived enough to order herself dessert, and glanced through notes he'd written back in the sixties.

_3_ _rd_ _Year – Dementors, Pettigrew, Weasley Brat_

He put little book away just in time to see the hungry look in Hermione's eyes as she was presented with monstrous brownie sundae drowning in hot fudge and whipped cream. He grinned at her predatory smile and realized he'd be seeing a lot more of it in the weeks to come.

One day, he'd be able to make sure her smiles never faded. He just had to be patient.


	24. Stay A Teenager Forever

Hermione was restless after they returned from their trip to Diagon Alley. Mainly because as an adult Tom siphoned all of her mental energy and disrupted the coherence of her thoughts, but also because they'd gotten back rather late. She still liked this version of him, just…much differently than his younger self.

She figured the shopping, near panic attack in Flourish and Blotts, and Tom's subsequent leech-like insistence to take care of her afterward was also partly to blame for her inability to find sleep.

So she wrote to the _other_ Tom to occupy her mind.

 _Stay a teenager forever,_ she wrote him.

_And why should I do that, Darling?_

_You're more tolerable, if you can believe such a thing._

_Truly?_ She could sense his sarcasm. _Well, I am in the business of being tolerable…suppose I'll have to hasten my research on youthful immortality._

She chose not to mention that he would succeed.

 _Good luck with that,_ she told him instead. _I can't sleep._

_No? Unfortunate. Have you tried some tea, Dove? A bath?_

_I had_ _both. Hasn't helped much. Is there anything we haven't talked about that's interesting enough to generate conversation but not so intriguing as to prevent me from falling asleep?_

She waited patiently for the several moments he took to reply.

_This seems horribly trivial, but you haven't told me very much about your home. Just passing facts here and there. Perhaps detailing something familiar will help put your mind to rest._

She liked his logic, but pondered the idea a moment. Discussing her parents wasn't a very tempting train of thought at present and everything in her muggle life related back to them…

 _You never talk about your family,_ she wrote after a moment, remembering that the older Tom was known for being the last descendant of Slytherin. But she didn't know if this one knew that yet.

The reply took a fair bit longer this time. So long that she almost retracted her comment.

_I don't have one._

She blinked at the dark green ink until it faded.

_I didn't know…_

_Don't fret, Dove. Being an orphan isn't something I broadcast._

_Where do you go during the summers?_

_Back to the orphanage._

A very unpleasant feeling settled into her stomach, washing away any leftover satisfaction from the dessert she'd eaten earlier in the evening.

 _I'm sorry._ She penned carefully.

_I neither want nor need pity. Don't give it._

_I wasn't._

_You were. Don't._

She frowned at the page, finding herself now at a loss for what to do with _this_ Tom too.

 _I just don't like it when my friends are in unpleasant situations._ She told him carefully.

_I know. Nevermind it now. How was your outing?_

She may have glossed over a few details…and flat out removed others from her tale, but she did tell him having dinner with his older self.

The next morning when she woke up atop her blankets with her cheek pressed against the journal, he informed her that she fell asleep in the middle of a very detailed description of a delicious brownie sundae and she grinned.

This Tom she could handle.

This Tom didn't make her head hurt.

* * *

Unfortunately for Hermione, any hopes of having a cool down period between her next run in with Lord Riddle were obliterated when she cheerfully made her way down to breakfast and found him waiting for her at the table with Harry and Sirius.

"Sleep well, Dove?" He asked her with a smile as she felt the color leave her face.

Sirius sent her a concerned glance as she frowned at Tom.

"I…did," she said slowly, waiting for him to explain what he was doing in the dining room instead of playing politics at the Ministry.

"Excellent," Tom chirped – actually _chirped_ – flashing his teeth at her. "I forgot to discuss this with you last night, but I believe you were thinking about getting a pet this term?"

She had been, but she'd barely spoken with her parents about it and they hadn't given her nearly enough money-

Oh. That's what his game was.

Bugger all.

She sighed under her breath. "I'd like one yes, but-"

Tom cut her off by turning to Sirius, "Anything you don't want to live with?"

"Bipolar cats," Sirius quipped. "Cats themselves are fine."

Hermione wanted to point out that she didn't live with Harry and Sirius, but they didn't give her the chance. She shot a glance at Harry, begging for his help with her eyes but all he gave her was a confused frown and a shrug.

Tom's grin widened at Sirius' quick response. "Lovely. Eat up, Darling. We're going pet shopping."

She really shouldn't have gotten out of bed.


	25. Crooks and Crankiness

“Feeling better this morning, I take it?” He asked as he led her through the Diagon Alley lunch rush. Thankfully it was nearly one by the time they arrived, so people would start thinning out soon.

“Somewhat,” she told him begrudgingly. _I’d be better if you’d get out of my face for more than twelve hours, though._

“Your life would be a lot easier if you didn’t challenge me so often,” he pointed out, glancing down at her with a quirked brow.

Her eyes narrowed in return.

 _Sure thing_ , she thought to herself bitterly. _Let me bend over backwards to avoid conflict with someone who doesn’t even consider me a friend. Right after bloody pigs fly._

She may or may not have acknowledged that she sounded a tad like Ron when she was peeved.

Tom’s sarcastic brow turned curious for a moment before he shook his head with an amused smile.

“Feisty little thing,” he said.

The near-fondness in his voice annoyed her further.

“I could have just done this when Sirius, Harry, and I came back in a few weeks,” she lied.

“Sure you could have,” he agreed good-naturedly as her held the door to the Magical Menagerie open for her. “Right after I gave you enough galleons to cover your purchase.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. He was going to hold that fact over her head all term and they both knew it.

Gliding past him to get inside, she was immediately greeted by the base level of noise – and smells – that was expected of a pet shop. Tom followed behind her, blessedly silent for now it seemed, and she decided to try and get this excursion over with before he decided to talk again.

The reptiles were an absolute no.

As were the rats.

She didn’t even want to know what was in the covered cage in the back right corner.

She steered herself to the other side of the store where the more normal pets were available. Upon spotting a display of kneazle kittens, she felt herself grin. They were odd looking, but cute. One of them even looked like Cheshire from Alice in Wonderland, while another sneezed pink bubbles.

She jumped when something soft rubbed against her leg, glancing down to find a mass of orange fur sitting next to her.

“Well hello,” she greeted, forgetting the kneazles. “And who are you?”

“Careful, Luv,” called the middle aged shop keeper who had appeared behind them. “Vat one’s a right menace ‘e is. ‘orribly ill-tempered for a ‘alf-kneazle.”

Hermione frowned at the owner, glancing back down at the squashed-faced cat that was still staring at her as if she was wasting its precious time. It was as if she'd found a ginger, feline version of Tom. Her lips twitched at the thought. How quickly would Tom’s younger self hex her when she got back to Hogwarts if she told him her first thoughts about the orange fuzz ball?

“Well, what do you want, then?” She asked it.

To the shop keep’s utter surprise, the ginger brute took two pads forward before making a graceful leap into Hermione’s surprised arms.

“Well, I never…” he muttered. “Looks like ‘e fancies you, luvie. You’re tha first person I’ve seen him be even remo’ely decent to. ‘e’s wicked smart, don’t get me wrong, but a right terror.”

Hermione grinned as the dour half-kneazle stuck his head under her chin and purred.

“I like him,” she announced, ignoring Tom’s utterly amused expression in favor of talking to the shop keep, whose name tag read _Cain_. “How much, Sir?”

Cain gave the young witch a shocked grin. “For you to _willingly_ get vat beast off me ‘ands, darlin’? Notta knut. I’ll even frow in a discount on the rest of your fings if you’ll really ‘ave him.”

Frugal. Cheap. _Perfect_.

“What’s his name?” She asked.

“Crookshanks.”

She lifted the orange cat under his arms so they were eye level. “I like you very much, Crookshanks,” she said.

The lion-like, sour faced cat purred louder, trying in vain to burrow himself under her chin again.

“She’s got a talent for bringing the best out of underwhelming creatures,” Tom muttered to Cain as he paid for the cat’s care supplied while Hermione was too busy bonding with the fuzzy thing to notice.

“‘As she?” Cain grinned. “Well, if she can teach da beast ta love, it’ll stay wif ’er foreva.”

Tom snorted, fighting a grin. “Trust me, mate. I know.”

He gave Cain the proper directions so all of Hermione’s cat care supplies would be delivered to Grimmauld Place before regaining her attention.

“Come on, you,” he said. “I need to get a new owl while we’re here.”

She followed him in a much more relaxed state than when he’d picked her up, likely because of the cat, and asked “What happened to the one you wrote me with?”

He resisted rolling his eyes. Perceptive thing.

“As that’s my main owl and seeing as you’ve decided on a cat, it would be horribly inconvenient if you needed me for something urgent and difficult to plan through the diary,” he explained as they left the store. “So I’m getting another that will likely spend a fair amount of time at Hogwarts.”

“I can’t have two familiars,” she reminded him.

He glanced down to give her a look.

“Convenient then, isn’t it, that your sponsor is head of the board and has the ability to make exceptions for special cases? Besides, you’re assuming it would be official."

Deciding not to fight that battle, Hermione sighed and let him lead her to the owl emporium. She just hoped whatever winged creature he forced upon her got along with Hedwig and Crookshanks.


	26. A Very Clever Friend

Tom worked the most recent date and time into the many equations and runes that made up the inside of the back binding of his journal. The moment '15 July 2013; 10pm' was woven into the magical data, the leather glowed brightly for several seconds before all the magic within it seemed to slide into place. The tables vanished and the runes shrank as they moved to form a border around the edges of the space. Within the border was now blank, plain, and unassuming.

Tom smirked in triumph, letting out a low chuckle that gained the attention of his cronies.

"Tom?" Abraxas said carefully.

Tom had brought his boys to the room today for a meeting as Hermione was still on holiday and wouldn't be appearing anytime soon. There was some disappointment in that, he had to admit, since his minions were decidedly less entertaining than the little witch.

"Malfoy?" Tom acknowledged in a tone that was almost pleasant.

He penned '1 September 2013; 7:00pm' onto the spelled leather and watched the ink sink in as Abraxas spoke up.

"We only wondered if our your…endeavor was successful."

Tom hummed pleasantly as the ink resurfaced.

_1 April 1963 – 10:00pm_

He had been right when he told her she'd be back at the castle on April Fool's.

"Most successful," Tom purred. "Most successful indeed."

He stood from his work space on the floor and stretched languidly.

"Now," he said, picking up his diary and moving to the largest of the plush couches the room had conjured for them. "There is little I feel I can…" he paused purposefully. Their eyes drilled into him as he idly picked imaginary lint from his trousers.

Every single one of them was putty in his hands.

They weren't the brightest, certainly not compared to his Dove, but they were useful and they knew their places.

Right now that meant hanging onto his every word as silence buzzed through the room.

"There is little I feel I can _trust_ any of you with, concerning a…curious matter," he finally said.

Flynn Avery cleared his throat softly.

"Pardon, My Lord," he began, "But any secret of yours is a secret of mine and with any…matters which need tending it is my duty to offer service."

Tom tilted his head at the tall, stocky young man before him. "I covet such loyalties," he purred, "But this matter requires the _upmost_ delicacy. Even I must tend to it with great care…"

Even though Nolan Lestrange and Theron Nott had sent Avery dirty looks for his little speech, their attention quickly reverted back to Tom, putting them on the edge of their seats.

"I have…" he paused briefly, frowning as he tried to think of the correct word.

She wasn't like the boys. She was above them, very far above them in Tom's mental hierarchy of people. 'Tool' was incorrect. 'Consort' was as well.

She wasn't his pet either, at least, not in the way they would understand the term. She was too young for that, even if he had been the sort of man that was lead around by his baser urges.

"…A friend," he said finally, deeming it the most accurate title, even if it was foreign. "A very clever friend…"

He mentally tasted the word a few more times, connecting it to her in his mind. The term would have to do for now, he supposed. There really wasn't a better one. They shared a mutual respect, mutual interests, and they had an unspoken rule to look out for one another. Not because he… _cared_. Well, he supposed he cared to protect her mind and her power. Tom knew potential when he saw it, and his little Wendy Darling was doused in it, her heritage be damned. Plus, he enjoyed her company.

"Let's call her Wendy," Tom decided, grinning. She loathed the moniker, but it amused him so.

"Do we know this…Wendy of yours, My Lord?" Asked Theron.

Tom gazed at Nott with bland curiosity.

"You do not." His lips turned downward. "Nor shall you anytime soon."

The boys seemed to deflate slightly at this knowledge, not that Tom blamed them. Having a little less testosterone in their midst would be a welcome change.

"Is she your lady, My Lord?"

Tom blinked in surprised and his eyes traveled over to Abraxas.

"She isn't," Tom informed them evenly. "Nor, at this time, do I plan for her to be."

He had considered it of course, but there were several issues with such a plan. Time, her age, the romantic heart under her brilliant mind, his lack of desire for a weakness. They were but a few of many, many reasons why Tom sought _not_ to cage his little bird.

"She is, however," he continued, "Most important to me…and thus, will be most important to all of you."

They all nodded in understanding, with Nolan being the only one searching for permission to speak.

Tom granted it.

"How might we avoid…any unsavory altercations with her, My Lord?" He inquired. "If we do not know her identity, then how might we go about avoiding her in the halls, as not to accidentally end up in any sort of unpleasant altercation?"

At this, Tom grinned darkly. "Oh, boys, you need not fret about that," he said silkily. "Though I would advise your grandchildren to behave themselves _most_ carefully. They're the ones who will be in her path after all."

It took them several moments, but understanding slowly flowed through them all.

Their lord had a soldier, a _friend_ , in the _future_.

Abraxas and Avery shared a glance. If Tom accepted Zabini and Davis into their circle, then the warning would need passing on. Unless they would all rather _not_ continue their family lines.

Unlikely that.


	27. Not A Rook

Hermione was nervous.

Oddly enough, Harry wasn't. Perhaps because of Sirius's influence or Draco's, but her best friend slash brother wasn't even remotely troubled by the situation they were in.

She stood and paced the drawing room again. This was the third time she'd done so in twenty minutes. She counted.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said gently. "Draco promised they were all… _in the know_."

She frowned. That was the problem. She knew very little of Draco's Slytherin friends. All she knew was that he used Crabbe and Goyle as shields, decoys, to hide where his true loyalties were among his housemates.

"I just hope there's no drama," Hermione muttered. "It's tedious."

She wondered where all the adults had gone. Narcissa had set them up in the largest drawing room with plenty of snacks and drinks, with Dobby and Ezra outside the doors on standby. Lucius has disappeared with Narcissa. _Sirius_ had only stuck around long enough to wish them a good time, and Hermione didn't know if he'd gone home or had taken refuge with his cousin or not. And Salazar only knew what Tom was up to. She never knew which days of her life he might deem important enough to drop in on.

Footsteps and quiet voices neared the door, giving Hermione ample time to sit back down and school her features.

If she could handle Tom Riddle, both elder and younger, then she could handle a few Slytherins.

Harry offered her a half smile as the door opened that she couldn't return. She managed to make her expression equal parts stony and polite as their guests followed Draco into the room.

* * *

Tom chuckled and took a sip of his tea.

"She's so strung up," commented an amused Lucius.

"She is," Sirius agreed.

"Poor dear," sighed Narcissa. "All this fuss over blood-status and decorum."

"We had to plant the seed," Tom reminded them.

From behind him, leaning against the wall, Abraxas spoke up. "The prejudice had to stay alive long enough for history to repeat itself," he added.

"Precisely," said Tom.

They quieted as they watched the scene through the shimmering spell fixed to the wall before them. It was a nifty little invention of Tom's that allowed users to see into a room without being anywhere near it. It was also allegedly useful when collecting information political enemies didn't want you to know, or so Tom had heard…

_"Granger," Blaise greeted evenly._

_"Hello," said Tracey a bit more nicely, frowning at Blaise. "Don't be so uptight, Zabini. If they're in with Draco, they're in with us."_

_Blaise frowned. "I think it's the other way around, Davis."_

Tom watched a few pieces click together in Hermione's mind as a slow predatory smile graced her lips. Pride stirred in his chest.

_"Ten points to Slytherin for observatory skills, Davis," she said smoothly. "S'pleasure."_

_Tracey through a somewhat hesitant grin at Hermione. "Cheers."_

Blaise and Hermione stared silently at one another for several long moments while Draco introduced Harry and Tracey. Finally, Blaise nodded.

_"What's more vicious?" Blaise asked her. "A hawk or a dove?"_

_"The dove," Hermione answered coolly, earning a confused glance from Harry. "The hawk goes for the neck, either to break it or spill a vein."_

_"And the dove?" Blaise pressed._

_"Leads the hawk to its prey."_

Tom sipped his tea smugly as her eyes glittered at Flynt Zabini's grandson dangerously.

"Zab was always annoyingly suspicious of everything, even for one of us," mumbled Abraxas. "No surprise it's a hereditary trait."

Tom hummed. "Hopefully the tendency to murder rich spouses dies with the boy's mother. Eventually the masses will catch on, no matter how well we hide the bodies."

_"You two done speaking in riddles?" Asked Draco. "We're sort of here to…y'know…hang out? Have fun?"_

_Hermione turned a tender grin to Draco. "Sorry. Didn't realize I'd been upgraded to a rook. Here I thought I was just a pretty knight."_

Severus snorted from beside Lucius and Avery, who'd been quiet thus far, chucked from his spot on the wall next to Abraxas.

Tom grinned into his tea. _No, Dove, not a rook. A queen._

_"You play chess?" Chimed Tracey eagerly._

_Hermione raised a brow, smirking. "I_ win _."_

With the power lines established in the small group of full and quasi-Slytherins, Hermione was slowly able to relax. Blaise and Tracey's loyalty to her grew over the few hours until Tom was satisfied with the foundations he saw. The Davis girl gave his Dove a run for her money in chess, which seemed to solidify a passionate sort of camaraderie between the two.

"I see scales," Tom purred, "She'll be hissing soon."

"What about the chamber?" Asked Severus.

"We've a while yet," Tom told him. "One day, and school year, at a time."


	28. All This

Hermione crossed through The Hollow quietly and gently opened Harry's door. He was still asleep, she noted, grinning. Shutting the door behind her, she carefully made her way to the doors and snuck out into the hall.

She was dressed for the day already, sporting muggle jean capris and a Slytherin Quidditch jersey Sirius had dug out of his brother's things one day and thrown at her.

 _"All yours, Kiddo_ , _"_ He'd said. _"If he'd had the chance to meet you, I'm sure he would have given it to you himself."_

She felt odd wearing a family memento, but Sirius always gave her a fond look when she wore it, so she got over it quickly.

For a man who'd spent twelve years in a notoriously horrible prison, he sure had bounced back quickly. She blamed Harry and Remus – _Professor Lupin_ – she corrected herself.

But her soon-to-be new professor wasn't at the Black estate today. Hermione imagined he would be along later in the day, but at present the only person bustling about was Sirius.

She grinned from the dining room door.

"You realize he isn't even expecting a card," she told him, "Let alone all this."

She made a gesture towards all the brightly wrapped gifts littering the table. Buried under the bulk of them was the most obvious of the lot – a new broom, even though his current one was adequate. She'd helped him pick out the rest one afternoon while Harry had practiced Quidditch with Draco.

"I've missed a lot of birthdays," Sirius said, glancing up to smile at her. "Besides, I have a lot of damage to undo from those rotten relatives of Lily's."

He knew he couldn't undo years of neglect and abuse with one birthday, but he could help Harry's recovery along to be certain.

She picked up a small bright purple box and shook it gently, producing a satisfying rattle.

"Bertie Botts?" She guessed.

"In one." He shot her an impressed grin before shifting into Snuffles and gently grabbing a small present between his teeth.

Hermione snorted. "Sentimental, much?"

He brushed past her leg as he left and she went to find Kreacher. The boys could have their moment while she made sure breakfast and other such important details were taken care of.


	29. Observational Study

Tom was far from patient today.

He was ahead in his classes, his prefect duties only entertained him for so long before he completed them, and it _still wasn't April_.

He had notes and plans to review for his O.W.L.s by teaching the material to Hermione. If he remembered correctly, she was already working on fifth year Defense before she went on holiday, but he had other subjects to cover with her. She was going to officially start her elective courses when she returned and he'd only gotten her through fourth year in those subjects.

He wanted to get her started on harder, more complex magics. He wanted to show her the dark.

But first he had to figure out why she seemed to be acting differently since she went on holiday. The change hadn't been particularly gradual. Some days she was elated when she talked to him, some days her writing was slightly less crisp and perfect like it usually was, telling him she was deeply bothered by something.

He wasn't blind to the fact that those days tended to line up with her reports of seeing his adult self. She had also taken to being a little more formal with him in her writing and told him less about the more mundane happenings of her day to day than she had before.

It bothered him.

She was _above_ his followers yet she was starting to act as if she was simply part of the masses. Unacceptable.

He had no way of knowing if she would go back to normal upon her return, but on the off chance that her peculiar behavior continued, he focused his extra energy on searching for a remedy. Thankfully, he had plenty of specimens to study.

A number of his schoolmates were in platonic friendships with the opposite sex, though admittedly most cases of such appeared outside of his house.

Hufflepuff was notorious for their strong bonds, gender and blood status be damned, but their temperaments and methods made him uncomfortable. They _cuddled_ one another, for Salazar's sake. Always leaning or hanging off at least one person, usually several. It was too much.

The Ravenclaw table wasn't even worth observing. They were worse than the Slytherins, in the sense that they would stab a 'friend' in the back without a thought if it helped them academically. It was barbaric. Most of the few _sane_ relationships he witnessed among the birds were hesitant and guarded – not at all what he was looking for. And the handful of them that seemed to behave more normally with each other were, arguably, teetering on the edge of insanity with their 'cleverness'.

Thus, Tom found himself documenting ideas from the last table he ever expected to find his answers at: Gryffindor.

They were annoyingly rowdy, yes, but their bonds weren't as sappy as the Hufflepuffs or as false-hearted as the Ravenclaws. Affection was given freely, but only to their closest of companions. Hugs—both long and short—were commonplace among the sea of maroon and gold memorabilia, with more intense affection sometimes accented by chaste kisses in innocent places.

It wasn't overly-flowery, it wasn't cold, and it wasn't guarded or politically loaded like Slytherin.

He'd have to scan her clever little mind to see what she preferred from her friends, but Tom was fairly certain he could handle a hug on occasion. If only because she was worth his time.

 _We're getting the rest of our school supplies today,_ he saw in his diary as he idly chewed his eggs.

 _Going with the snakes?_ He asked her.

_Yes…but the Weasleys are back from Egypt and they always wait until the very last moment to get their supplies._

Ah. He understood.

_You're worried about a run-in with the lot of them._

_Yes._

He speared a piece of neatly cut sausage with his fork.

_Don't let anyone pressure you into making amends with that boy._

_I won't. Harry and I have discussed it. Ronald can apologize and mean it if he wants to attempt friendship again._

Tom considered that far too forgiving for his tastes.

 _If you say so_ , he wrote carefully.

He took a moment to spare another glance at the Gryffindor table, catching sight of a warm moment between a small blonde and her Quidditch playing beau that was different than the other exchanges he'd witnessed so far. They were fused like jigsaw pieces, her head tucked securely under his chin with his arms holding her snugly against him.

Tom tilted his head curiously, watching the two nuzzle one another briefly before they broke apart, intertwined their hands, and started heading towards class.

He couldn't help but observe how _that_ display seemed so much more fulfilling for the parties involved than the quick, more common, chaste interactions he'd observed previously.

Tom found it curious, though he wasn't particularly sure why he had an opinion on it at all.


	30. No Limit

"Come _on_ , Theodore, you're so _slow_!"

Hermione glanced up from the journal, smirking as she caught sight of an exasperated Theo Nott being dragged by Tracey to a display in the back of Scribbulus Writing Implements.

Theo had been the last of Draco's Slytherin friends to join the group, oddly enough because Draco had thought Theo would be the one Hermione would get along with the least. As it happened, Theo and Hermione both held a particular passion for books and a profound appreciation for deep thinking that turned them into fast friends.

Hermione quickly realized that Tracey had a bit of a crush on Theo, though whether or not the young witch was aware of her crush was unknown. Tracey did tend to drag Theo around a lot, even though she quickly got frustrated with his subdued reactions.

"Salazar, you don't enjoy _anything_ , do you? Daphne was over the moon about these quills when we stopped in here last week! They're _gorgeous_! How can you _not care_?!"

Hermione's lips twitched as Theo raised one dark brow at Tracey before shaking his head and mumbling something about how he was much more excited about reading books than the instruments used to write them.

Glancing back down at her lap, she found the words ' _Enjoying yourself, Dove?'_ waiting for her attention.

 _I never thought I'd be able to get along with so many people…_ she wrote hesitantly. _Don't get me wrong, they're a bunch of cheeky prats when they want to be, but…_ She trailed off, looking for the right words.

_But so are you. It's pleasant being part of something and knowing you belong, isn't it?_

She glanced up, scanning the store and eyeing her friends carefully.

 _It is._ She decided, penning the words. _It really is._

_You can switch houses, Darling._

She knew this of course, but she didn't want the all the fuss. Hogwarts students loved their drama and she wanted to stay under the radar as much as possible. Besides, what about Harry?

 _I can't make Harry choose_.

Tom didn't argue with her.

_I think he would go with you, Dove, but if you're comfortable then stay._

They both knew she was dreading going back and pretending to be a Gryffindor. She didn't have to say it aloud, or in writing for that matter.

"Hermione!"

She blinked, turning her head towards the sound of her name and smiling and Draco and Harry as they approached.

"Ready to head to Madam Malkin's?" asked Harry. "We ought to go before she gets too busy."

Hermione stood from where she'd sat against the wall and stretched. She shook feeling back into her toes as she picked up her small basket of items and stowed the journal in the pocket of her robes.

Draco went off to gather Theo, Tracey, and Blaise from around the store as Hermione and Harry went up to the counter.

"That all for you today, dearie?" asked the pretty blonde shop keep – _Penny,_ according to the embroidery on her shirt - with a smile. Glancing into the basket at Hermione's modest amount of supplies, she carefully added, "You're sure you've got enough parchment for the new year?"

Hermione smiled hesitantly. "This ought to do for now. I'm not sure what the limit is on my account…"

Penny brightened. "You've an account? I can tell you your limit, dear. Name?"

"Hermione Granger…um…though it may be under Tom Riddle? I'm not exactly sure," she admitted.

Prat sent her a letter telling her that her _accounts_ were prepared. Honestly! She _had_ a Gringotts vault but _naturally_ he would set up a separate vault so he could monitor whether or not she spent anything. However, Tom didn't explain how she was meant to use the funds he demanded she spend, so she had only grabbed what she could afford with the few galleons in her pocket just in case.

Penny was flipping through a small well-worn leather journal that, from Hermione's angle, seemed to have charmed pages. Hermione was contemplating the details of financial and data manipulating charms when Penny perked up again.

"Ah-ha!" She exclaimed with a grin. "There you are, Miss Granger. You haven't a limit at all, dear. Are you sure you wouldn't like to grab some more parchment?"

Hermione resisted a sigh, peaking over to find that Tracey had successfully managed to distract the others in the ink section.

"I'll go with you 'Mione," said Harry gently, realizing her dilemma. "I'll carry your basket."

Hermione gave Penny a half hearted smile, telling her that she would be right back, before Harry grabbed the basket and they headed back into the parchment section.

"You alright?" Harry asked her once they were out of earshot of the store's other occupants.

Her lips were turned down into a pout as she carefully picked out several more rolls of her favorite parchment.

"Yes," Hermione mumbled, not even convincing herself. "It's just…difficult."

Harry nodded in understanding and she moved father down towards the sealing wax and stationary.

"You don't like feeling dependent on him."

 _Ten points to Gryffindor_ , she thought, _for a hole in one._

"Yeah," she said absently, trying to choose between three lovely sticks of sealing wax. "I really like the green – I really like green period – but would that be obvious?" She asked him. "The crimson is lovely as well, but that feels too on the nose, and the blue is pretty but I'm really tired of people thinking I'm a Ravenclaw."

"Hermione…" Harry said carefully, bringing her attention to the hesitant expression on his face. "You can get them all…"

She blinked several times.

Oh.

Right.

No limit.

Tears of frustration burned at the edges of her eyes as she grabbed two sticks of each color and put them in the basket he was so kindly holding for her. It took effort not to stomp over to the string and out of spite, she grabbed the first two expensive spools she saw – dragon leather and pixie spider silk.

Harry followed in silent worry as she went back through the store picking up doubles of items, sometimes trading out things for more expensive alternatives, and occasionally threw in something random.

"A fountain pen?" He asked, eyeing the pretty metal.

"I've always wanted one," she explained, her voice hard.

She bought more ink than he thought she could use, even considering her extensive note-taking habits, and threw in a few thick _pricey_ blank journals 'for notes'.

Penny couldn't have been happier to ring up Hermione's frustration fueled purchases, though Harry was glad that given Hermione unlimited funds, Penny didn't find it necessary to tell them her total. Hermione did ask for a receipt, but Harry relaxed when she stuffed it into her newly acquired leather 'writer's satchel' without looking at it.

"Oi!" Harry called to the others as Hermione bee-lined out the door and headed into another store. "We're headed to Malkin's! Meet us there?"

Theo took Harry's words at the perfect excuse to pry Tracey away from all the pretty quill displays, letting Harry know that they would catch up soon. Taking a deep breath, Harry headed off after Hermione.


	31. Discontent

"Right this way, dear, right this way!"

Harry followed one of Madam Malkin's assistant tailors as she led him to where Hermione was already being measured. He shot her a concerned look as he was ushered onto the pedestal beside her.

"We can take a break from shopping," He offered, moving accordingly on occasion so the magical measuring tape could move about. "Or we could go buy something trivial. Rose Lee Teabag had a sale sign in the window when we passed."

Hermione let out a sigh and shrugged. "I just want to be done," she told him. "I want to just…curl up in the hollow and angrily take notes from the textbooks with my disgustingly expensive new fountain pen."

Harry gave her a hesitant smile. "The satchel is really nice," He offered. "That little purple handbag you got when we went into muggle London will complement the dark leather."

Hermione cast him a side glance, causing Harry to blush and grin sheepishly. "Okay so I don't know a bloody thing about how handbags complement anything," he admitted. "But that thing looks pretty sturdy. You'll be able to fit a book or two in it, at least."

"There's that," she conceded, but her mood had deflated to the point where there wasn't much else Harry could do to cheer her up.

Hermione picked out a nicer material for her school robes than she normally would have after reminding Madam Malkin that she was in Gryffindor, but asked for two sets of Slytherin patches as well.

"I have some friends who managed to almost tear off their patches last term," Hermione lied easily. "I just want some on hand in case they manage it this year."

Harry was weary of asking Hermione if she wanted to switch to Slytherin in her current mood. He eyed the green and silver insignias with a pang of longing as the doorbell chimed.

"Davis, _stop_ ," Theodore moaned. "For Salazar's sake, can we shop for one thing at a time?"

Harry and Hermione shared a look with Blaise as he carefully extracted himself from the bickering pair.

"Five galleons says they snog by Christmas," Blaise challenged.

Hermione crinkled her nose. "Don't think so. Maybe by fourth year."

Harry looked at both a look that said he worried for their sanity. "Are you two mental? It'll never happen."

"Bet?" Blaise said with a grin.

"You're on." Harry and Hermione chorused.

They took turns shaking on their agreement before Blaise was lead to a pedestal for measuring and watched on in amusement as Theo and Tracey started arguing about whether or not it mattered what type of wool their robes were made of. An argument that quickly dissolved into Tracey dramatically declaring that her reputation was at stake if she continued to associate with Theodore.

"You're a Nott!" She fussed. "You're old money! Aristocracy! You should know about these things!"

"Oh I know them," Theo assured her with an irritated look. "I just don't give a rat's-"

" _Language, Theodore_!" Draco and Blaise sang in a horribly high pitch tone.

Tracey's cheeks turned pink. "Daphne couldn't help that her voice was all nasally!" She said defensively, making Harry and Hermione realize they were referencing an incident the pair hadn't been present for. "She hadn't had any allergy elixir that day!"

Hermione's spirits lifted slightly as she watched the others bicker and tease one another, but it darkened again when she felt the journal start to hum with magic.

_Did you suffocate under a pile of quills?_

She snorted softly, realizing she'd never replied to Tom's last entry.

_No. Sorry. Got a bit flustered._

_Seems like you're still tense. What happened? Did you run into Weasley?_

She bit the inside of her cheek. _No. It's not important._

_I'd like to know, regardless._

Hermione sighed and stuck her pen between her lips so she could rub her temple with on hand.

 _I don't have anything to say on the matter_ , she wrote as Theo, Tracey, and Blaise moved on to pick fabric and house crests for their robes. _Sorry to disappoint._

_Dove._

She glared at the warning. It was quite tempting to tell him _exactly_ what was on her mind, but it wasn't long until she'd be on the train back to Hogwarts, so not only would Tom the elder have time to express his feelings on the words she wanted to write, but Tom the younger would have plenty of time to stew on it before she got back as well.

 _You don't have to go up to the Room of Requirement_ , her mind whispered. _You could just end your 'usefulness' now and change the timeline so that he pisses off._

Throbbing started to creep into her temples as she half-heartedly wrote _monetary discontent_ before heading towards the door and fresh air.

She didn't hear Harry call for her or follow her outside. She crouched down as close to the store's walls as she could manage and kneaded her temples in a way that he was certain could be considered self-harm.

"Harry! Hermione!"

Her eyes snapped up to his with a cold sort of anger in them, and Harry sent up a silent prayer as he turned, finding Fred and George waving at them with the rest of the Weasley's in tow.

"He jinxed me," Hermione muttered bitterly, standing up and pretending her head wasn't truly and thoroughly starting to kill her. "I _cannot_ get a break from _anything_ , can I?

Harry eyed the pallor of Ron's skin and the anxiety on his face.

"What d'you think he told them?" He asked her as the family drew closer through the crowd.

Hermione spared a glance at Arthur and Molly's welcoming smiles and said, "Nothing true."


	32. The Run In

If Molly noticed the rigidity in Harry and Hermione's postures, she pretended not to.

"Oh, hello dears! We've missed you! Ronald told us how your parents were going on holiday, Hermione dear, but he couldn't remember where it was you'd gone. Did you have fun? And Harry, Sweet boy, I see you managed to get free of your relatives? Did the family reunion go well?"

Harry remained silent, sparing a glance at a too-calm Hermione in an attempt to deduce how she wanted to handle this situation. The brunette witch gave Molly a patient, curious sort of smile and asked, "What holiday, Mrs. Weasley?" in a voice that was sugary enough to run Sugarplum's out of business.

Molly looked surprised. "Pardon, dear?"

"What holiday?" Hermione repeated patiently as Draco stepped out of Madam Malkin's with the others in tow.

"There you two are," He said cheerfully, glancing at the Weasleys but otherwise ignoring them.

"Took you lot long enough," Harry said with a grin. "Tracey, did they have the right material for your robes?"

The blonde made an indignant noise in her throat. " _Yes_ , Harry, thank you so much for asking."

"We wouldn't want you to chafe," Quipped Hermione, allowing Draco to stand behind her and Harry with one arm lazily thrown over her shoulders.

"Mister and Misses Weasley," Draco greeted politely, having been secretly enjoying the confusion making its way through the family. "Sorry to interrupt. Father mentioned that you won the ministry raffle. Where was it you went on holiday?"

"E-Egypt," Arthur answered, frowning between Harry, Hermione, and a deeply unsettled Ron. "We took a trip to Egypt."

"I've been there," Chimed Blaise. "The pyramids are wicked."

Molly made a small noise of confusion. "I don't understand," she said, glancing back at her son. "Ronald, you _told_ me that they were preoccupied this summer!"

"Not at all," Said Hermione, still far too calm for Harry's liking. "I spent a fortnight at home before Draco invited us to Malfoy Manor. Then Sirius' trial wrapped up and once his housing situation was settled, Harry and I migrated. Mum and Dad have visited a few times, even," she explained efficiently. "It has been a busy summer I suppose, what with the trial and fixing up Sirius' place, but I certainly didn't have any preexisting plans. Though I did wonder why I never got a letter from you, Mrs. Weasley. I just assumed you were too busy for company this summer."

Molly looked heartbroken for all of two seconds before she rounded on her youngest son in fury. " _Explain_."

Ron shrank away and stammered out a feeble, "Harry could've come!"

"You mean I could have accepted the invitation to spend the summer with you after Hermione conveniently didn't get one?" Harry asked with a glare. "You sure do know how to hold a grudge over the stupidest of things. Hermione having a sponsor shouldn't be grounds for cutting her out of the group!"

"A sponsor?" Molly gasped.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Said Fred, or at least she thought that one was Fred.

"That's wicked!" added probably-George.

"That's not often done anymore," Arthur said with a smile. "Congratulations, Hermione."

Harry continued to stare Ron down angrily. "Take notes," He snapped.

Ron turned red. "If I don't want to invite someone to my house that's my business!" He argued. "You're the ones who went and buddied up with a bunch of bloody snakes!"

"And I won't visit if you exclude Hermione when she hasn't done anything to warrant it," Harry growled. "Have you read the Prophet at all this summer? My Godfather was found innocent and was _released from Azkaban_. I was _adopted_ , Ron, by Sirius _Black_. Oddly enough, he's related to Narcissa Malfoy, whose maiden name happens to be _Black_. That makes Draco my _cousin_. So forgive me if I make an effort to get to know my cousin's friends."

"Cheers," Chirped Draco, slinging his other arm around Harry's shoulder with a cheeky grin. "You're not so bad past the red and gold, cousin mine."

Theo snorted loudly from behind them and quietly mumbled, "Right. Red and gold."

"What am I, the doormat?" Hermione said with a frown.

Draco ticked up a brow. "No, you're a _clever_ doormat, 'Mione. Keep up, love."

She told herself that the elbow she sent to his ribs was not half-hearted.

A sharp, scandalous gasp sounded behind them, drawing everyone's attention to Tracey.

"We're going to be late!" She shrieked, beginning to drag them all away from the Weasley clan before she flashed an apologetic grin at Molly and Arthur. "Pleasure meeting you all! Sorry to chat and run, but we've got to meet Draco's parents for lunch!"

"Bloody hell, is it two already?" Blaise asked, playing along and easing their escape further.

Long after Tracey and Blaise had successfully gotten the group away from the Weasleys, the smug witch sent a wicked smirk over her shoulder at the rest of her friends.

"It's only twenty-til," She informed them brightly. "But that conversation—not to mention that _family_ —was a train wreck and I wanted out of it before it got any worse. Anymore stops we need to make before we head to Rosa Lee?"

Hermione gave Tracey an endearing smile. "I love you," she said.

Tracey winked at her. "I love me too."


	33. Tea Time Temper

Tom had reserved the party room at Rosa Lee Teabag for the majority of the day with the intent of keeping an eye on the children while letting them think they were unsupervised. Lucius, Narcissa, Sirius, and Severus joined him, realizing after the last time they'd spied on the teens that doing so guaranteed some level of entertainment for them all. Or, at the absolute least, it gave them something to talk about.

Narcissa huffed, frowning as she stirred sugar into her tea with unnatural precision. "That Weasley boy…Tom, tell me our darlings will be resorted soon?"

Tom eyed Narcissa over the rim of his teacup. "No."

For a brief moment, Narcissa didn't realize that his comment wasn't an answer, but rather a refusal to.

Severus snorted, "You walked into that one, Cissa."

"Will they switch, though?" Sirius asked Tom in a much less demanding manner. "We all saw them in Madam Malkin's. I can tell Harry wants to, he's just afraid to discuss it with Hermione."

"And she certainly wants to," chimed Lucius. "That drivel about needing the extra patches for friends was clever, but only someone outside of her proper house would take that excuse as truth."

Tom hummed noncommittally and sipped his tea while Narcissa simmered with impatience.

"She'll use the patches eventually," He said casually a few moments later.

"And Harry?" Narcissa pressed.

Tom raised a brow that questioned Narcissa's intellect as Sirius solemnly added, "If she goes, he'll go."

"Teach them to love and they'll follow you anywhere," Tom muttered, almost to himself.

"Will Hermione…get better when they switch houses?" Sirius asked carefully.

Tom's brow twitched up again. "Better with what? Being taken care of? Realizing she's worth something? The depression? The panic attacks?"

Sirius frowned. "All of it."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "No. Switching houses will not directly do much to remedy any of those things."

"What will?" Narcissa asked.

Tom took a generous swallow of tea as he felt a headache building. "Time. Aside from that, she's at the mercy of a sixteen-year-old boy who will finish his fifth year soon and has the emotional awareness of a grapefruit."

Sirius sucked in a breath. "Shite. You said time moves faster on her side of the connection. How long will you be on summer holiday?"

"January to July," Tom answered. "She'll finish her third year and be halfway through summer again when I return to Hogwarts."

"Salazar," muttered Lucius. "That's an awfully long time to be separated."

Tom made a noise that could only be translated as 'No shite' as his expression twisted unpleasantly at the memories.

"Will something happen while you're away?" Narcissa asked worriedly. "On either side of the diary?"

"What's your definition of 'something', Cissa?" Tom replied in a bored tone.

"Anything."

He rolled his eyes, patience dwindling. "Let's see. Hermione's third year and the holiday before my sixth," he began irritably. "I'll spend half my summer at the orphanage before Abraxas hauls me off to the Malfoy estate in Scotland. During that time, I'll try to distract myself so I don't think about how much time is going to pass for her while I'm away. In the month that I'll be back at Hogwarts before she returns, I will not be someone people are eager to spend their time with," he snapped. "Hermione will go through the last half of the stupidest year of her education while taking too many classes, pretending she belongs somewhere she doesn't, trying to prevent any further attachment to me, and pretending Ronald Weasley's shite friendship is worth her time and tears. Then she'll go on holiday and have an equally, if not more so, stressful holiday than she's had this summer."

Tom's glare was met by silence around the table.

"Anything else?" He growled.

Quiet choruses of "No, My Lord," swept around the table as he settled back into his chair with an annoyed expression.

"It won't be completely terrible," He grumbled after a few moments of awkward silence, "But it won't be pleasant either."

"She'll be fine," Narcissa whispered.

"Eventually," Tom muttered.

"And…when you've both returned?" Severus questioned carefully.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Tom's mouth as he let out a breathy half-laugh.

"Don't get me started on her fourth year."


	34. Homesick Homebound

"You've got your Hogsmeade slip?" Sirius asked.

"Yes," said Harry.

"All your books?"

"Yes."

"Broom?"

"In my trunk."

"And you know if you forgot anything you just need to write me, don't you? I'll send it right up-"

"Padfoot," Harry interrupted gently, his lips twisted into a grin. "I promise I'll write if I forgot anything."

Sirius made a noise in the back of his throat. "Could write when you're bored too."

"I'll write," Harry promised quietly. "Hedwig will enjoy having something to do, I'm sure."

Sirius pulled Harry close, kissing the top of his untamable head of hair. "If you get busy and forget it's fine," he said, aiming for nonchalant and not quite succeeding.

"I won't forget," Harry mumbled, squeezing Sirius tightly. "Promise."

Hermione pretended she couldn't hear their quiet exchange of 'I love you's from where she stood nearby. She could see Narcissa and Lucius giving similar treatment to Draco. Farther down the platform, she could just barely make out Tracey's almost identical farewells to her parents.

Hermione was pleased for them.

She was.

She ignored the letter from her parents burning a hole in her painfully expensive satchel and reminded herself that they would be rushing home from a conference to even have a chance at getting to King's Cross on time, and that the conference was a very good thing for the practice. She reminded herself that she was proud of them, excited for the potential expansion, and how guilty her mother had sounded over the phone she'd used at Tom's manor to check in with them. The conference wasn't supposed to have been extended an extra two days, important partners and potential partners weren't supposed to have been spaced out over those extra days, and Hermione had told them to stay because the potential payout wasn't worth the trouble and guilt she'd feel for bringing them home early to see her off.

She just hadn't expected the homesickness to hit her quite so hard once they got to the station, and nearly-fourteen was not old enough to stop wanting a hug from one's mum, she discovered.

She'd gotten a hug from Narcissa and a pat on the shoulder from Lucius several minutes prior before they'd turned their attention to Draco, and Sirius had already expressed that if he had to hunt her down and drag her to Grimmauld Place next summer he would. Apparently someone had to read all the books in her room and he was not volunteering for the task.

Even Kreacher had bid her farewell and sent both her and Harry off with their own personal goody bags for the journey.

But her parents were the ones she wanted.

The warning whistle blew loudly, resulting in the first wave of students scrambling onto the train. Draco waved at her as he boarded and mouthed 'I'll find us a car' before he disappeared inside.

Hermione kept her back pressed against the brick pillar while Sirius pretended he was okay with letting Harry go so soon and Tracey clung to her father's neck.

She was pleased for them.

She was.

Crookshanks meowed at her feet just before the second warning whistle shrieked. Hermione managed to open her arms enough for him to jump into them and pulled him up close to her face, but she couldn't bring herself to collect the belongings she hadn't stowed away. Never mind trying to make her way onto the train.

Sirius and Harry detached with dry eyes, albeit barely, and the former gave her another light squeeze.

"I expect to hear from you too, Hermione," he said, pulling a forced smile from her.

"Of course. Thank you for having me over the summer," she told him.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Off with you two before all the compartments are taken."

She checked over her shoulder about a thousand times on the walk from Sirius to the train, but her search turned up empty. There would be a very guilt-ridden letter dropped on her plate the in the great hall the next morning, she was sure, though she hoped her parents didn't take it too hard. She understood, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

Unfortunately, if she wanted left alone, she had to pretend nothing was wrong. So she kept a smile firmly in place even though the action felt nearly impossible and managed to get away with being quiet for several hours by pulling out one of the thick blank leather volumes she'd bought from Diagon Alley. She kept Tom's journal open underneath it and sat in a way that gave the illusion that she was switching between the two even though she wasn't.

She didn't want to talk to Tom.

Or Harry.

Or Draco.

Or…anyone.

All she wanted was to hide someplace dark and quiet.

She got the dark as the train pushed into a harsh thunderstorm about halfway through the journey and she got the quiet when all the lights suddenly went out as the train came to a stop. But she never asked for it to be so very, very cold.

"Guys," Tracey whispered, pointing to the windows. "What are those?"

Hermione could barely muster up enough energy to shift so she could see the crackling frost engulfing the glass. Even with the layer of ice, she could see the dark hooded figures on the other side, but all she could do was stare.

Even as the train jostled.

Even as the compartment door slid open and Tracey screamed.

She stared until the cold finally beckoned her in another direction, while a nearly silent warning bell in the back of her mind made her frozen fingers twitch towards her wand.

Tracey's screaming faded away along with the edges of her vision. She wasn't certain if she actually had her wand in her hand or if her arm was raised towards the frigid darkness that welcomed her. The darkness she wanted to collapse into.

A dull, faraway ringing reached her ears. She hoped her wand was really in the air and she hoped the spell pushed past her lips. Just don't let it hurt them.

Suddenly what little she could see of the world became impossibly bright and the ringing seemed to get louder and farther away all at once. Gravity ceased to exist for an immeasurable amount of time before the world faded away.

It was dark.

It was quiet.


	35. 3rd Year - Start of Term

Hermione listened to zero-percent of Dumbledore's start of term speech as she weakly continued to nibble on the chocolate Professor Lupin had given her when he'd tended to her on the train.

_That was very powerful magic, Hermione. I'm amazed you were even able to cast the charm under those conditions, but it's lucky you did. You bought yourself and your friends a few precious seconds._

Only her friends hadn't been hurt. They'd felt the cold and the despair but they weren't the one's the Dementor had been targeting.

Her head hurt.

The sorting seemed to happen in the amount of time it took her to make her jaw move up and down twice, but once the tables loaded up with food, she lost the ability to swallow.

"Hermione?" Harry said gently from beside her.

Her stomach rolled as she managed to get the small bite of chocolate down before she wrapped it back up in the foil wrapper and slowly stuffing it in her pocket.

"Bloody hell, Hermione!"

She glared tiredly at Ronald as he plopped down across from them and immediately set to work filling his plate.

"The whole school's talking about you," he continued. "Did you really fight off one of those things by yourself?"

She blinked slowly, tiredly, _deliberately_ , but couldn't muster up the energy to remind Ronald that they weren't on pleasant speaking terms at the moment.

"Harry," she said in a voice that could barely be classified as a whisper. "I can't eat…I think I'm going to…find some place quiet."

Under the table she lightly tapped the pocket of her robe, the pocket that held her journal, and watched Harry's eyes glance down briefly before he nodded.

"Do you need me to walk you?" Harry asked.

Standing very slowly - courtesy of her weakness and out of respect for the throbbing in her skull - Hermione mumbled a quiet 'No thanks' and carefully shuffled out of the hall. She ignored the whispers as she passed without any issues or sudden bouts of dizziness, but nearly dropped to her knees in the middle of the main hall as she realized the room of requirement was on the seventh floor.

Not to mention all the stairs between her and the Gryffindor tower as well. Her eyes burned.

A slow creek sounded to her left, gaining her attention. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected that door hadn't always been there.

Stepping nearer, she glanced through and wished she had enough energy to smile. Gently pressing her fingers against the stone walls, she quietly murmured her thanks to the castle and stepped across the threshold. She came out right beside the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet.

She didn't even have to pace three times for the door to appear. It was just there, waiting for her.

She'd never been more relieved in her life.


	36. Tending to Dove

Tom paced impatiently and checked his watch for the dozenth time.

10:02pm

He let out an annoyed growl. It shouldn't be taking this long. _Why_ wasn't she here yet-

The door creaked open and he stilled immediately, straightening and taking in all the dark and nervous energy surrounding her.

She'd...changed.

She was a tad taller. Puberty was starting to make itself known, giving her a less boyish figure and curving her waist slightly. She had tried to tame her curls with something that may have held them captive earlier in the day, but had mostly worn off. Something about the way her uniform sat made her look more feminine, more like a young woman, than she had before she left.

She also looked like she'd just been hit by a train.

Suddenly all of his plans to pick apart the reasons for her odd behavior throughout her summer vanished. _Nothing_ about her looked right. She was too pale, too tired, too _weak_. Seeing her wearing that weakness so thoroughly made him angry beyond reason.

"What the _fuck_ happened?"

She blinked at him oh so slowly. "I…"

"Yes?" He encouraged impatiently.

"The train," she whispered.

Had she _actually_ been hit by the damn thing?!

"What about it?" He growled.

"D…demen…dement…"

His jaw went slack as she gave up on the word with a dejected sigh.

" _Dementors_?!" He shouted, frustrated beyond reason. "On a train full of sodding _children_?!"

She whined and took an unsteady step closer to the door, drawing his attention to her feet and the ball of orange fluff half hidden in the shadow.

"Is that your cat?" He asked, momentarily distracted by the yellow eyes that had opened to stare at him with the utmost disdain.

Hermione was barely lucid as she slowly turned her attention to her feet. He wasn't certain that she was actually taking in her surroundings at all, or even really seeing the fluffy mass beside her, until she spoke up again.

"When'd you get here?" She asks the beast unsteadily.

"Mreow."

"I…I didn't…see you follow me."

Tom watched her with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He didn't like how she seemed to float between varying degrees of lucidity. He wanted to know why no one had dragged her to the hospital wing. He wanted to know who in their right mind allowed _dementors_ near school children.

"I need you to tell me what happened," he demanded, crossing the room to gently take her arm and guide her to one of the sofas.

She dropped onto the cushions like deadweight as he crouched in front of her to hold her upright.

"Talk," he commanded.

Her shoulders twitched slightly in what he assumed would have been a shrug if she were at peak health.

"They…swarmed the train…have to be at the school. Pettigrew still wanted."

That he understood. "But why did they come _on_ the train, Dove?"

"I'dunno," she said drowsily. "Came right for me, though…like a missile."

Tom had to release a breath very slowly.

"Have you been to the hospital wing?" he asked her, nearly growling again when her head immediately started moving from side to side.

"No. Got…chocolate in my pocket," she mumbled. "Dinner…too many smells. I can't…" Her lips turned down into a pout. "Why me?" she whimpered. "I was miserable enough already…"

"Why, Dove?" He pressed.

It would take an awful lot of despair to lure in a Dementor the way she apparently had.

"Everything," she mumbled pitifully.

Tom frowned at the tears that welled in her eyes and the quivering pout of her lips. He didn't know what to do about tears. Anger he could deal with, but he had more experience _causing_ tears than...fending them off...

He needed her to not be crying.

He had absolutely _no idea_ how to get her to stop crying.

He ought to have paid more attention to the bloody Hufflepuffs.

Pushing aside his frustration for the moment, he managed to get the chocolate from her pocket and cast a series of complicated healing charms on it before using his wand to break it into small pieces. The cat joined her on the sofa with a rumbling meow while Tom slowly spelled one piece of chocolate into her stomach at a time.

She was slightly more coherent when he sent her to bed with orders to stay in touch with him, but for some reason her sour faced cat hung back and stared at him.

Tom glared at it.

"What do you want, Cat?" He said harshly. "Shouldn't you be following Mummy?"

Crookshanks took his time pawing over to Tom's feet and wove between his legs several times. He could feel the beast purr as his head tilted down to rub against his ankle a final time, before Crookshanks offered one last "Rrreow" and stalked off. Tom had never seen a cat give affection and leave as if you now owed it a life debt since it took the time to validate your existence.

Why'd she buy such a mercurial, arsehole of a cat anyway?


	37. Pan & Wendy

The next morning – in Tom's opinion, at least – Hermione had mostly recovered from the Dementor incident. She was far from back to what he considered normal, however.

Back in February, when she'd left for her summer holiday, she would hold his gaze unwaveringly, but now her eyes flicked _around_ him. She looked just to the side of his face or at the knot of his tie if she managed to look up from the floor for more than a few seconds.

She looked like she wanted to curl into herself. One arm gripped the other at the bicep in some sort of half-hugging position. She was hunched over slightly, but he didn't think it was because of the heavy looking—and quite clearly new—over-shoulder satchel she was lugging around. Especially since she kept shuffling her feet.

" _Now_ what's the matter with you?" He snapped, narrowing his eyes at her. "I can understand being out of sorts after a Dementor attack, but you've been acting odd ever since you went on holiday."

She startled and her wide eyes met his dead on for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"N-nothing's wrong," she protested.

 _Bollocks_.

His eyes narrowed further as his patience evaporated.

_Legilimens._

He winced immediately.

What in Salazar's name had _happened_ over the summer?

He sifted through thought after self-loathing thought, a headache building in his temples as he tried to find the source. An overwhelming sense of inadequacy seemed to stem from everywhere and nowhere all at once, but after a bit of searching he found that it was continuously looping back to a single strand of thought.

_He's only here because I'm useful._

Something cold and bitter stirred in his chest as he carefully withdrew from her mind.

She swallowed thickly as he ground his teeth, trying to ignore the borderline _migraine_ he'd gotten just from spending a few moments in her head. She may not have known what triggered his sudden increase in anger, but she knew to be weary all the same.

He wanted to scream at her. How could she be so clever and yet so blind. They were nearly _equals_ for Salazar's sake. Was she oblivious to how significant that was? How _valuable_ she was to him? She was above the masses in his mental hierarchy, not rolling in the mud with the common swine!

He certainly wouldn't have ensured her wellbeing after the Dementor attack if she was just a tool. She was a...a 'friend'—she was his protégée!—someone who could keep up with him when he chose to share his knowledge with her.

Growling, he stalked forward, just barely catching her by the biceps when she reflexively stepped backwards. Acting before he could really think about what he was doing, he yanked her forward. Not a moment later, he found her surprisingly soft curls tucked under his chin and he coiled his arms around her, preventing her from pulling away like she tried to.

"Welcome back," he sighed, as she stood rigid against him. "Welcome back my insufferably obtuse, little lost girl."

The breath she'd been holding stuttered out of her as she very hesitantly hugged him back.

"Hi Pan," she whispered faintly.

When he finally did release her several long moments later, he made sure that yes, the hug had helped her and that she received such treatment from her other friends. Though when he realized how thin the layer of comfort he'd been able to build in her mind was, he sighed again.

This…hugging thing would have to become a common occurrence if he wanted to make any progress with her self-esteem.

She ought to be thankful those fuzzy locks of hers were as soft and warm as they were. He could deal with the necessity of physical interaction, but _only_ because it wasn't an inconvenience.

He wasn't less opposed than he cared to admit about having an excuse to make a tradition out of the not-pleasant-but-also-not-unpleasant contact.

He absolutely wasn't.


	38. Not a Social Call

They stormed into the great hall like a legion taking charge of a battlefield. She didn't recognize several of the men present, but she was able to pick Lucius out of their ranks as well as several men who looked like ministry officials.

Tom was, of course, at the front – the commanding officer of the group – and he was aiming for Dumbledore.

"Tom, what a pleasant surprise," Albus greeted cheerfully from the staff table. "I'd offer you a seat but we don't have enough up here for everyone I'm afraid."

"We've eaten," said Tom in a tone Hermione recognized as very, very dangerous. "Unfortunately for you, Albus, this isn't a social call."

Hermione spared a glance at the scene, watching Albus tilt his head at Tom in a way that made her wonder if the headmaster was even trying to hide his condescension.

"Now, Tom, let's not be rash," Albus said, playing peacemaker. "After all, you're a tad close to this situation. It's my understanding that your protégée, Miss Granger, was one of those impacted by the unfortunate accident on the train."

Harry nudged Hermione with his foot to get her attention and whispered, "Does Dumbledore actually think that's the only reason Tom's here?"

Hermione made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. "He's trying to discredit Tom," she mumbled, trying to keep her voice steady even though her blood was boiling. "But Tom's head of the board. He takes that position seriously. He'd be raising hell even if I hadn't been attacked, simply because the student body was put in needless danger. Protecting the next generation of great witches and wizards, and all that rot. He doesn't believe in gambling with magical blood."

Thankfully, most of the hall was so focused on the showdown at the staff table that Hermione was able to spare a glance to the Slytherin table without being noticed.

Draco, Blaise, Theodore, and Tracey seemed to be in quiet discussion, with Theo being the one to notice Hermione. After giving Draco a discreet nudge, Hermione was able to make eye contact with the blond and nod once. Draco returned the gesture, glanced at his father, then back at Hermione. She, in turn, spared a sideways glare at an otherwise occupied Dumbledore, before returning her gaze to Draco.

Message received, Draco relayed their silent conversation to the other Slytherins while Hermione refocused on Tom's back and spoke to Harry.

"We'll be keeping an eye on Dumbledore this term," she said lowly. "Tom needs legally acquired evidence to get him sacked and out of the way. Since he's my sponsor, it wouldn't be out of place for me to express any concerns to him as opposed to telling my head of house."

Harry nodded, ignoring the adults as Dumbledore finally stood and led Tom's group to his office.

"Dumbledore knew Sirius was innocent, but let him go to Azkaban without a trial," Harry muttered, stabbing a bit of egg more harshly than necessary. "My eyes and ears are open."

The hall was abuzz with speculation as Harry and Hermione focused on enjoying their breakfast in peace, but, naturally, the tranquil atmosphere didn't last very long.

Ronald noisily threw himself onto the bench across from them, immediately stacking his plate high without even muttering a greeting.

Harry and Hermione shared a glance as they continued to eat.

Stuffing a piece of sausage into his mouth, Ron finally spoke up.

"You didn't wake me," he said around his food. "I've only ten minutes to eat now!"

Harry kept his expression neutral. "I'm not your alarm clock," he said evenly. "You should have set your wand to wake you."

"You lot always wake me!" Ron protested. "Why would I set my wand?"

Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice very slowly as to prevent herself from lashing out. It wasn't worth the fuss to try and talk sense into Ronald, just like it wasn't worth the trouble to point out that he wasn't exactly their friend anymore.

Harry didn't answer Ron, choosing to follow Hermione's lead and remain silent. He did, however, try to finish his breakfast as quickly as possible without being obvious.

Hermione had just finished her omelet when a late owl swooped into the hall. She recognized the black hawk owl immediately and snatched a piece of toast for him just as he landed before her.

She exchanged the letter in his beak for the toast and gently pet the feathers near his face.

"Good morning, Ares," she said as she popped the seal with her teeth and shook the letter open with her free hand.

She was idly aware of the gentle nips being given to her fingers as she read.

_Dove,_

_I'll be stealing you away for lunch if all this foolishness with Dumbledore is taken care of by then. I need to make sure you're not suffering from any lasting effects after the Dementor incident and if I'm not pleased with your recovery, then I'll have you excused from your afternoon course. Don't frown at me. Care of Magical Creatures is hardly something to fret over this early in the term. I'm sure if you went to Hagrid's for tea with Harry at some point later in the week that he would gladly tell you what you missed. Your health, on the other hand, is not something to ignore._

_Unless, of course, you'd rather I collected you_ _after_ _that class. But know this: the longer I have to wait to check on you, the longer I'm keeping you. So don't expect to be back for dinner if you choose to make me wait._

_Your choice, lost girl mine._

_-T_

Ares nipped her fingers again to get her attention, making Hermione realized that he wasn't leaving without a reply.

She quickly fished out a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill from her lovely new satchel and penned a quick note for Ares to fly off with. A few gentle pets later, and Ares was content enough to fly away.

"Was that your sponsor's owl?" Asked Ron, thankfully with a mouth free of food.

"Yes," she answered. "He's got two. Ares and a white barn owl named Nyx."

"What's he need two for?"

Hermione resisted the urge to grin. She'd been very annoyed about the second owl until he'd overruled her and named the feathery beast. She still didn't need Nyx, but her own metaphorical feathers were no longer ruffled. "He writes a lot of letters, so he keeps them in rotation. Plus, I'm allowed to use Nyx if she's at the school, so I don't have to borrow Hedwig from Harry."

Ron grunted and, unfortunately, shoved bacon into his mouth. "Too bad you couldn't get a' owl," he said as he chewed. "That demon cat of yours keeps going after Scabbers!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "Perhaps you should keep better track of your pet, Ronald. Crookshanks isn't the only cat here - You're lucky Millicent Bulstrode's cat hasn't gotten him yet."

Ron mumbled unintelligibly around his food while trying to eat as much as he could before classes. Harry and Hermione, having both finished their meals, stood together and collected their things.

"Oi!" Ron said indignantly. "Wait up, would you?"

"We need to go to the library," explained Harry. "And you've plenty of time until Transfiguration to finish your breakfast. I imagine you have no interest in studying with us?"

Ron blanched. "Studying?! Already? It's the beginning of term!"

"And we already have an essay due in History of Magic," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, next _week_!"

She rolled her eyes. "Enjoy your breakfast Ronald. _We've_ got work to do."


	39. Checking In

Care of Magical Creatures turned out better than Hermione expected. There was a bit of a hiccup with the book situation, but once everyone knew how to open the finicky volumes, everything went smoothly. Hermione managed to keep Draco from making a prat of himself with a subtle shake of her head. Only a few people successfully gained Buckbeak's trust, Harry among them, but no one was hurt and that's what mattered.

Most of the class was already well ahead of them when Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally parted from Hagrid and started making their way up the hills towards the castle. Hermione drowned out the boys' discussion on Quidditch - the first time the two had talked without the underlying heat of irritation that Ron seemed oblivious to – and chose to observe the scenery instead. She was using Harry's voice to guide her, since she wasn't even looking forward, so she didn't notice Tom standing at the top of the nearest hill waiting for her until Harry pointed him out.

She sighed.

He looked slightly annoyed, but whether it was because she opted not to go with him until after classes or because of the Dumbledore issue, she didn't know. She assumed, based on the lack of heat behind his greeting smile, that Dumbledore was the more likely source of his frustration.

"Ready to go?" He asked as she neared.

She nodded before turning to Harry. "I may be back late."

Harry smiled at her and shrugged. "I'll get a head start on researching for that Transfiguration assignment while you're away."

Ron made a small noise of protest. "One summer together and you're already as bad as she is," he grumbled.

Harry and Hermione shared a glance while Tom watched on in mild amusement. Hermione noticed a hint of disdain in his posture as well.

"I like to think I grew up over the summer, actually," Harry said with forced nonchalance. "Sirius would want me to do my best and I want to make him proud. Putting a little extra effort into homework is worth it to make him happy."

"I find myself agreeing with you, Mister Potter," Tom said suddenly, smiling in that slightly dangerous way he did when he was around someone he had little patience for. "Sirius wanted to know how you were since he knew I'd be collecting Hermione this afternoon. I'm sure he'll be very pleased to hear how maturely his godson faces his responsibilities."

Harry blushed slightly at the compliment. "Would you mind telling him hello for me, Sir?"

"Not at all, Harry," Tom assured, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Come along, my dear. We've much to do this afternoon."

Tom pulled out an old dark blue journal, one she'd seen Tom's younger self carrying around. She realized it was a portkey when he held it out to her and gave Harry a last parting grin as they winked away.

* * *

They landed in a breathtaking marble entry hall that was so bright her eyes had to take time to adjust. Once he was certain she had her balance, as well as her sight, Tom led her up the grand staircase. Hermione quickly found herself lost among all the rooms, doors, and hallways.

"Where are we?" She asked, doing her best to take in all the finery and the different design palettes for different sections of what must have been a mansion – a castle even.

"Proserpine Park, Dove," Tom answered, flicking his wand to open the sliding wooden double doors at the end of the hall.

Stepping through them, Hermione was once again thrown by the change in décor. It seemed no one area of the house was decorated to match another, especially considering the ornate, Victorian styled section of the house she'd been in when Professor Snape had brought her.

"What'd you do, section off clusters of rooms and hire a different interior designer for each section?" She asked, taking in the warm living space he'd brought her too.

High ceilings with gentle skylights lit the room. All the furniture and accents were cream, marble, and dark wood, with solid glass panes for the far windows. There was even a fireplace with a muggle television mounted above it.

Why?

She gave him a questioning look.

"I like architecture and interior design," Tom said by way of explanation. "This house needed so much work done when it came into my possession that I saw no point in simply updating the existing décor. It was atrocious."

He guided her to the edge of the large 'U' shaped sofa and told her to sit, to which she complied. She also set her satchel by her feet.

Behind the couch was another set of double doors, non-sliding, which Tom walked to and opened, revealing another living room decorated completely different than the one she was currently in.

She heard several doors open and close, some nearby and some farther away, as he maneuvered through the idiotically large house with familiar efficiency.

He returned a while later, outer robes nowhere in sight and clad only in dark trousers and the argyle Slytherin sweater she'd seen him in once before. She eyed him patiently as he came back around the stupidly large sofa – Honestly, when would Tom Riddle ever need to seat so many people? - and sat down next to her.

"Right, then," He said casually, tilting his head at her. "How are you?"

She blinked at him. What happened to having a lot to do?

"You saw me, what, a week ago?" She replied. "I'm fine."

Tom raised a brow in warning. "A week ago you weren't recovering from a Dementor attack," he said. "I will not repeat myself."

She summoned her patience, already wishing she could go back to Hogwarts, and said in a forcedly neutral voice, "I'm peachy."

"Hermione."

She raised a brow back at him. "I answered your question. I'm fine. That shite on the train was inconvenient, but otherwise fine. What do you want from me?"

"A better attitude, if we're starting at the top of the list," He snapped with a glare.

"And I'd love for you to not be the single most contradictory human being on the planet," she countered, glaring back. "Pity, that."

Tom sighed. "Must you be so difficult?"

Her eyes narrowed further.

Pot. Kettle. Black.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tom spoke up again, "Any lingering fatigue?"

Hermione idly recalled how difficult it had been to get out of bed that morning, but still replied with a firm "No."

"Dizziness, diminished concentration?"

Loads.

"No."

"Loss of appetite, nausea, or vomiting?"

Yes.

"No."

"Emotional discontent?"

She frowned at that one. "No."

Tom tilted his head at her again. "That didn't sound very confident."

Don't you remember how this Dementor crap pans out? She thought bitterly.

"It was rather vague question, wasn't it?" She countered.

He leaned back against the couch, still studying her with the same intense look in his eyes she often saw in his younger self, before he asked, "Overwhelming sadness?"

Her muscles tensed, but she rolled her eyes at the question all the same.

"No."

"Feeling weighed down?"

"No."

"Trouble sleeping?"

Yes.

"No."

"Loss of enjoyment from previously pleasant activities?"

Her jaw clenched. "No."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me, Hermione."

"I'm not."

He made disbelieving noise. "Feelings of inadequacy, guilt, or isolation?"

"No, no, and no."

"Mood swings?"

"No."

"Overruled."

She let out a frustrated sigh.

"Why ask me if my answers don't matter?" She demanded.

He shrugged, still glaring at her. "I'm just curious to see how long you'll go before you catch on to the fact that I know when you're lying."

She ground her teeth. "I'm not ly-"

"You clench your teeth you lie," he said nonchalantly. "Not to mention the plethora of other physical tells you possess. Or how your hair gets frizzier when you're angry or upset because your magic starts buzzing about."

She clenched the fist he couldn't see, barely noticing the sting of her nails digging into her palm.

"Do try not to break the skin," Tom said nonchalantly. "I just replaced this couch and haven't gotten stain preventing charms worked into the fabric yet. Blood and fabric can be such an annoying combination."

She looked away, choosing to glare at the wall instead of continuing to look at him.

"Stop this," He said. "Do you know how long it took me to figure out how to hug you properly? I spent multiple meals studying my classmates for clues, probably losing a fair chunk of IQ points after watching the Gryffindors, but that's no matter," he continued. "I hugged you on purpose, Hermione, and I'd never done it before. Do with that information what you will."

Her anger was momentarily replaced by confusion.

"Why?" She asked him.

"You'll figure it out," was his cryptic answer. "And I'll do it again. Are you done lashing out at me unprovoked? Because I was hoping you'd enjoy this afternoon away from the excellent company of Ronald Weasley."

He managed to pull a begrudging smile from her with that comment and upon seeing it, reached out to gently run a hand through her hair.


	40. Library & A Letter for Harry

"How are classes?" He asked. "Bored?"

She shrugged and gave him a 'What can you do?' look.

He smoothed back several more wayward pieces of her hair. "I figured you might be, but try to bear with it, alright?" He said gently. "You'll resume your lessons with me soon, if memory serves."

She nodded. "I've already started on the fifth year curriculum."

"Good girl," he praised. "If you have trouble juggling your standard assignments and practice in the room, you need to tell me. Younger me."

"I will," she promised, earning a smile.

"Now," he began, "Which library would you like to see first?"

She blinked at him, eyes wide. "There's more than one?"

He stood, chuckling, and offered her a hand.

"Come on, you," he beckoned as he helped her stand. "There's at least one per floor, some large, some small. I can't let you into the ones with...less than legal reading materials until you've learned to control and combat darker magic, but there are plenty of other options. There's the classics library, the science fiction library, the history library, the philosophy library..."

She was overwhelmed with curiosity by the time he'd shown her all the safe libraries in the upper levels of Proserpine Park. He would have taken her on a tour of the lower levels as well if it hadn't been time for dinner. She reluctantly allowed herself to be pried away from the smallest library – the magical theory archive – to eat, though she pouted at Tom the entire walk to one of the dining rooms.

Naturally, there were multiples of those as well. She wondered why he'd kept such a ridiculous house in the first place.

"I want to drop out," she announced as he led her down another flight of stairs.

He snorted. "You may not do so for various reasons, but we can make sure you're supplied with plenty of reading materials, Dove."

Her teasing mood dimmed slightly as she remembered him dragging her through Flourish and Blotts a few weeks prior.

"Suppose I ought to make a dent in the books I have at Grimmauld Place first," she muttered quietly.

"Hush," he admonished, his fingers finding their way back to her hair. "You worry too much. Just try to enjoy this year as much as you can, alright?"

Mentally, she snorted, but chose to keep her doubts to herself. Besides, judging by the delicious smells filling the modern dining room, she figured it would be better if she focused on eating rather than starting another argument.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_Tom and Remus told me about the train before the Prophet got ahold of the story. Awful creatures, Dementors. I hope the effects haven't lingered any, but if you're still feeling down go to Madame Pomfrey or Remus, alright? Tom said you looked fine when he saw you, but I know you tend to keep a stiff upper lip. Don't try to tough it out with this one, it's not worth the risk._

_Tom said Hermione got the worst of it. How is she? It's nothing short of amazing that she was able to cast a patronus under those conditions. That's no easy charm - fifth year magic if I'm remembering correctly. I think casting one successfully was extra credit on the DADA O.W.L. - that's how complex it is. Useful though. I wonder where she learned it._

_Drama aside, how are you? The house is quiet without you and Kreacher is beside himself with grief. He only quits blubbering when I let him bake things for you, so if you haven't looked in the packages yet, you'll find that they're full of treats for you and Hermione. I think he made her more chocolate-based pastries when he heard about the attack. Though to be fair he probably made you more biscuits too. Try not to make yourself sick._

_Don't get into too much trouble, alright?_

_Love you, Kiddo._

_~Sirius_


	41. The Boggart

Hermione was anxious as Professor Lupin explained the details of their first lesson.

Apparently, they were going to participate in a practical lesson about boggarts. One at a time, they were to step into the charmed salt circle in the middle of the staff room, which would prevent everyone else from seeing what their boggart became until they decided if they were comfortable without the privacy charms in place. For safety and instructional purposes, Professor Lupin would always be able to see the student within the wards, whether he was within the circle or not. He would, however, be choosing to stay outside unless they needed the extra confidence boost.

Most of the class found the wards to be a source of comfort, but Hermione and Harry were still dreading the experience. They knew their greatest fears were far more complicated than Ron's arachnophobia.

Hermione stood anxiously beside Harry as Neville went first. After having spent a reasonable amount of time with Professor Snape outside of school, the effect of Neville's _riddikulus_ didn't have the same effect on Harry and Hermione as it did on the rest of Gryffindor house. The Slytherins could appreciate the humor in it, but Snape was still their head of house, so they couldn't enjoy the joke as thoroughly either.

Gryffindor bravado demanded that most of them allow their fears to be broadcasted, just as Slytherin pride demanded they do so as well.

Padma was afraid of cobras. Seamus was afraid of banshees. Ron was, predictably, terrified of spiders. Blaise had some serious issues with birds. Tracey was afraid of being attacked. Pansy feared aging.

Harry didn't feel any better about facing his boggart even after seeing several others. He told Lupin that he didn't want the wards down no matter what his boggart turned out to be, knowing something horribly unpleasant was about to come.

The boggart morphed and changed several times before it finally settled on a scowling Sirius, who's glare Harry met with an uneasy stare.

"Well?" He said coldly. "What are you waiting for? Go pack your things. Petunia won't wait forever."

Harry clenched his jaw and took several deeps breaths before shouting " _Riddikulus!_ " as firmly as he could.

Sirius swirled and morphed into Snuffles wearing a party hat, which had been one of the most amusing moments of Harry's most recent birthday. He shared a smile with Professor Lupin while boggart-snuffles playfully pranced around the small space, before heading back to Hermione.

"You looked a bit pale for a minute," she said quietly. "How bad was it?"

He shrugged. "Sirius was sending me back to my aunt's," he muttered. "Not pleasant. Feeling a bit queasy still, to be honest."

Harry gave her an encouraging smile when Lupin called her next. Hermione also immediately opted for privacy. She'd spent most of the class period self-analyzing and came to the conclusion that she'd like to keep her worst fears to herself, thanks. Especially considering the time-sensitive secrets she carried.

Brandishing her wand, she gave Professor Lupin a stiff nod, and he released the boggart once more.

Hers took a while.

It tried to shift into several things, but seemed to stop mid-transformation and then decide on something else entirely. She saw the beginnings of her parent's dead bodies, then a blurry version of McGonagall snapping her wand. After that, the boggart almost settled on a beaten and bruised Harry trapped with his muggle relatives. Then she saw Dumbledore holding all her Gryffindor things while a frowning Snape as her newly acquired Slytherin friends blocked her from the steps leading to the dungeons. She thought any of those scenarios would have been plenty horrible for the boggart to become, but what it finally settled on was much, much worse.

Dread overwhelmed her as she stared at him.

There was an unsettling steadiness in his eyes that managed to make his stare haughty, calm, and dangerous all at once. His posture was controlled, free of the occasional relaxed gesture or fidget. It was deliberate. It was threatening. It matched the coldness in his eyes as his head tilted at her ever so slightly.

"You don't honestly think you mean something to me, do you?" He asked. "You are nothing."

She blinked and realized it was the only movement she was currently capable of. Her arm wouldn't — couldn't — raise her wand. She couldn't remember the spell or why she needed it in the first place. Some small part of her mind was aware that he wasn't real, but that thought wasn't registering properly.

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly in a sneer so subtle it would put Draco to shame.

"What, did you think we were friends?" He continued. "Did you think I would tuck you under my wing without _several_ motives?"

Her breaths became shallow as she tried in vain to keep her rising anxiety under control.

"Why would I put any effort into you, _Dove_ , if it weren't to meet my own ends?" He purred darkly. "And you think you're clever…clearly being able to regurgitate every word you're ever read doesn't mean you have a sizable intellect."

She flinched, taking one jerky step backwards before all her muscles seized up again. Everything _hurt_. Her throat was tight and there wasn't enough air in the room. She wasn't even sure why they were there anymore, why _he_ was there.

"It amuses me how easily you fell into the little hole I dug for you, Birdie," he continued, taking one mocking step forward. "You were so desperate for someone, _anyone_ , to acknowledge you as a person instead of seeing you as an encyclopedia. It was written all over your face. You made the game so _easy_."

She almost choked on her tongue when she tried to swallow. Her mouth was dry and her hands were shaking. It was too warm and there still wasn't enough air.

Why were they here?

Why was this happening?

"In hindsight your shortcomings really were to be expected," he mused, taking another step forward. Then another.

When he stopped he was just outside of her personal space and studied her with intense disdain for a moment before his aloof expression morphed into a disgusted sneer.

"I shouldn't have set expectations for a filthy little mudblood in the first place," he hissed lowly. "What a waste of time…"

Numbness seeped into her veins and slackened most of her muscles, settling into every crack and fissure his words had caused while leaving a trail of cold in its wake. Someone other than the statuesque Tom before her was speaking, but the words were so muffled she felt like she was underwater. It was a while before she could make out what the voice was saying, but once she recognized that it was her name being spoken, she blinked.

"Hermione, remember: It's just a boggart," Lupin said gently from the other side of the barrier. "It's not real, no matter how real it feels, alright?"

She managed, just barely, to let her eyes leave Boggart-Tom, quickly meeting Lupin's worried gaze.

"Silly thoughts can be too difficult against particularly nasty fears," the professor continued. "Try just thinking of something better, something more pleasant, than what you're faced with now. The incantation is the same."

Her fingers twitched around the handle of her wand as she nodded unsteadily. Trying to summon courage she didn't feel she had, Hermione faced the boggart once more.

In a voice that was nearly silent, she whispered, " _Riddikulus_ …"

Tom's diary clattered when it hit the staffroom floor.


	42. Processing Poorly

She managed not to break down until after dinner.

She didn't throw up when the journal hummed with magic that night as she stared at the canopy of her four poster without really seeing it. Tom didn't write her again until she was making her way into Ancient Runes the next morning. She didn't read it then either.

She skipped lunch and out of habit her feet carried her to the seventh floor.

Her next class wasn't until fifth period, freeing the entirety of her afternoon. Tom had a copy of her timetable and knew she'd be available after lunch — her time — on Mondays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, assuming his time lined up with hers. Every other night, their evenings lined up almost perfectly, which made their usual nightly meetings easier. On the days in between, her nights lined up with his days.

Tonight was an odd night, and if her math was correct, that meant it was about six-thirty for Tom, give or take a few minutes. The likely hood of him being in the room was high and she wasn't sure if she could make an empty room appear…she'd never tried to before.

Instead, she sank down against the wall across from where the door usually appeared and waited for her next class.

* * *

Hermione returned to the Room of Requirement hallway later that night after Harry's not-so-subtle worried glances started to drive her mad. She had no intentions of going in the room. Perhaps she'd sit here and study a while, assuming her invisibility and silencing spells kept her from being noticed.

Of course, studying meant going through her bag. Going through her bag led to accidentally acknowledging the persistent hum of the journal.

She really hadn't meant to open it.

_Still awake, Dove? Fancy a midnight snack? I had Abraxas run down to the kitchens so I could take lunch in the room. He got biscuits, too._

It took her a moment to realize that note was from the night before.

_You're quiet today. Don't you have your first Runes lesson right about now? You…haven't been trying to reread the entire textbook before class, have you?_

No. No she hadn't been.

 _Where are_ _you? You should be at lunch by now. You're never this quiet. Have you caught ill this early in the year?_

She wasn't sick either.

_Even if you were sick you'd tell me. This isn't like you, Dove. Answer me._

The softest of snorts left her. Great. He was annoyed. Salazar forbid Tom Riddle became annoyed.

_Assuming you aren't in the Hospital Wing — which I don't believe you are — I still expect you to come up here tonight._

Her gut twisted as she remembered the boggarts words.

_I shouldn't have set expectations for a filthy little mudblood in the first place..._

She winced at the painful sensation and was about to put the book away when more words appeared on the page.

_I saved you a few biscuits from lunch, you know._

She groaned as her stomach cramped out of hunger this time. Surely she could go in the room, prove she was alive, make up a story about why she'd been radio — journal? — silent all day, take a few biscuits and leave, couldn't she?

Her bag was repacked before she could talk herself out of it and she tried to steel herself as she passed the door three times.


	43. Confusion and Frustration

He didn't look up when the door quietly creaked open. He also didn't look up when it latched shut or when she quietly stepped deeper into the room.

He was busy.

The rug he was sitting on was surprisingly comfortable and the large coffee table functioning as his dining space was just the perfect height for him to eat from comfortably. He had a tomb larger and heavier than _Hogwarts: A History_ balanced in his lap and propped up by his left hand. His right hand held a flat soup spoon and was making idly trips between his mouth and the deep plate of fettucine alfredo that was neatly-cut into bite sized sections.

On the farthest end of the table from his comfortable little space, a plate of four chocolate chip biscuits was suspended in a stasis charm.

Whether or not she'd actually come for the damn biscuits was still unknown, but even if she didn't want them, he wasn't eating them. There was a very large and tempting piece of cheesecake waiting for him under a covered plate.

When he finally did tear his eyes away from a particularly interesting passage on allegiance-based magic, he found that she was standing beside the sofa across the table from him instead of making herself comfortable like she usually did.

Hm.

His eyes narrowed as he observed her. She wasn't even making an effort to fake eye contact today, as her eyes were trained on some insignificant pattern on the sofa's upholstery. She looked worn down, more so than she had the night she'd returned to the castle, and it didn't seem like she'd been eating either.

He leisurely scooped up another perfect portion of his pasta as he spoke.

"What happened this time?"

The spoon hovered above the plate a moment, just in case any pasta decided to fall, as silence followed his question.

No excuses this time. Curious.

All the pasta stayed on the spoon and he leaned into the sofa behind him as he chewed thoughtfully.

He wasn't in the mood to dig around in her brain tonight. The headache he'd gotten from her inner emotional war zone was not pleasant and he had no desire to repeat it anytime soon, but of course, that left him at the mercy of her shite communication skills.

Tragic, really.

"It's rude not to answer people," He said after swallowing, keeping his voice conversational. "I know your manners are better than this."

She didn't respond.

His eyes narrowed.

He gently set his spoon against the edge of the plate and used a scrap of paper to mark his page before standing. As he rounded the table and got closer to her, he was impressed with his own patience. They'd already done something similar to this earlier in the week, yet here they were again.

"This isn't going to become a habit, is it?" He asked, stopping just inside the edge of her personal space. "I fear it will become horribly tiresome for us both if it does."

One fist slowly clenched, and he tilted his head as he watched her straining tendons. Other than that small movement she was completely stoic. But at least he got a reaction out of her.

"I'd really rather not do this all night. My supper will cool and even though alfredo is still delicious even when it's not scalding hot, it's disgraceful to let a perfectly good meal run cold unnecessarily."

"No one's stopping you from eating," she murmured, eyes still trained away from him. Fist still clenched.

"Wrong," he said simply. "You're broken somehow — again, I might add — which really dampens the atmosphere. Not to mention my day was incredibly boring without someone intelligent to talk to. _That behavior_ was also very, very rude."

 _Finally,_ her eyes rose to meet his, but the unfamiliar emptiness in them bothered him.

His patience strained.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, his tone no longer light.

"It's not important," she grumbled.

" _Clearly_ , I've already decided that it's worth my time. So _it is_ important," he growled.

Tom had seen — caused, even — many different reactions on the faces of people around him. Being the curious person he was, he had studied people's expressions thoroughly so he would have the verbal skills necessary to make someone tick while also being able to tell if his strikes struck. But he had never seen someone _crumble_.

He was being metaphorical when he called her broken, but now it seemed his word choice had been quite apt. Even without legilimency, he could practically see the different compartments in her mind locking down.

This was not right.

This was worse than whatever had triggered her issues over the summer.


	44. Attempted Repairs

Tom only knew of one way to make Hermione act normal again: hugging her. It was still a rather alien experience for him, but it was effective and reasonably efficient. Naturally, that was his next course of action.

Panic visibly seized her when he moved closer, causing her to stumble several steps backwards towards the door. Stunned by her reaction, all Tom could do was stare at her now wild eyes and concerningly pale face.

"Hermione," he said quietly. "You need to tell me what happened _right now_."

Her head moved frantically back and forth.

" _Hermione_ ," he hissed. "You're acting like you've been beaten, for Salazar's sake! _What_. _Happened_."

Silence.

"Did. Someone. Hurt. You."

Her answer mumbled so quietly he missed it.

"I said: Not a real person," she repeated just barely loud enough for him to hear.

His confusion grew.

"What does that mean?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Dove."

"It's not important!"

He was going to regret this and he knew it. Maybe if he just skimmed the surface…

He cast a silent legilimens.

Her mind usually held an undercurrent of activity. She was always thinking, filing, observing, analyzing, and whatever else went through her busy mind. Never before had her mind been so still in his experience. It was dark, the undercurrents snuffed out entirely, and what little activity he could see was alarmingly slowed down. The brief images and impressions of thoughts he was able to pick up were choppy and unclear. If this landscape was always lurking behind the closed door in her mind, then it was a wonder she could cast a patronus at all.

"What happened?" He asked her again, ignoring her physical reactions in favor of her mental ones.

He was starting to feel like the cat curiosity killed.

On a later date, it might amuse him that she was able to piece together how he treated people he didn't value behind closed doors, as opposed to how he treated her. Presently, he found it unsettling to see broken up and fragmented memories of himself treating her like an ant.

He knew she was a slave to curiosity and skepticism, but that didn't explain why she questioned everything he did. Most of the images weren't even all that clear, but he saw enough, heard enough, to realize that he didn't really know how to fix it.

Not having a solution bothered him.

He sighed heavily as he broke the connection. This time when he moved closer he was faster, preventing her from taking anymore panicked steps away. Some throaty squeak escaped her when he grabbed her arms. Being the stronger of the two, it really wasn't very difficult to trap her against him. If she'd quit squirming, he'd even be comfortable. Her hair was quite soft, after all. There were certainly worse places to rest one's chin for a spare moment.

"Let go!" She protested, vainly trying to escape his hold.

"Stop being broken," he ordered. "Firstly, because it doesn't suit you. Secondly, because it's bad for your health. And thirdly, because I had _planned_ on showing you something after we ate."

She stopped struggling after a few moments, releasing a pained sigh and going mostly limp against him as she did. He smirked in victory. With her still, he could finally use the little fuzz ball as a headrest, making him much more willing to endure whatever length of time it would take to fix her.

"Let me know when you're less broken, Wendy," he said somewhat smugly.

He barely caught her muffled, "Prat."

"I think you'll enjoy the project I have for you," he continued. "Not sure we'll be able to do it. It's really obscure magic. Looks tricky as all hell, but if we can't make it work, no one can."

"What is it?" She murmured.

He pulled back slightly to grin at her.

"Heard of Parseltongue, by chance?" He asked.

She nodded.

"The Chamber of Secrets?" He continued.

Her blank stare made his grin widen.

"Stop being broken," he ordered again. "I can't exactly teach my protégée if she's not in working order, can I?"

Hermione happened to know a heating charm that wouldn't do unsavory things to the texture of food and cast it on his half-cooled fettuccine. He ate less of it than he'd initially planned and convinced her to finish it off while he started explaining the theory of magic-sharing to her.

He got her to eat three of the cookies, then lied at told her cheesecake was for both of them. He ate his bites with measured slowness until she seemed full and in the end, she had eaten most of it.

Not that it mattered. He'd just make Abraxas get him more tomorrow.


	45. Researching

A few days passed before she was starting to act more like herself. A subdued version of herself, perhaps, but he noted much less nervous shuffling in her body language and she was back to making consistent eye contact.

She was still broken as far as Tom was concerned, but aside from giving her a hug when he saw her and a hug before she left, he was out of ideas for how to fix her. He'd been studying the student body at meals again, conducting further research into the nature of 'friendships' and the best way to participate in one. His findings were varied, and he quickly came to the conclusion that one could _have_ friends without having talent for _being_ a friend.

The name Ron Weasley came to mind.

Tom also paid close attention to how she described the people she enjoyed spending time with. Several times he'd heard her describe her friendship with Harry as one that bordered on a sibling relationship, though Tom's studying showed him that not all siblings got along as well as Hermione did with Harry. Draco Malfoy, Tracey Davis, and Theo Nott were also names he'd heard in a positive light. Apparently Ronald Weasley had a phobia of libraries, meaning Hermione and Harry could meet in secret with their Slytherin friends to study. Aside from Blaise Zabini, she seemed to be quite close with all of them.

If he thought she'd execute his command without a fight, he'd order her to switch houses.

He'd watched the Gryffindors enough to know part of her misery was due to her housing situation. They were loud and rowdy. He didn't even want to imagine what their common room was like if more than a small handful of people were in it. The Slytherin common room didn't get loud. They were private people who had conversations in hushed tones and typically left the dorms entirely if they wanted to enjoy a less subdued environment. Even with the fires the common room was pleasantly cool regardless of the season. The large windows along the back wall made the room all the more relaxing, and when the sun was out, the light came through the lake water as a dull green glow.

The Slytherin common room was a place conductive to studying and close-knit group gatherings. It was a low energy space where minds could clear. Where everyone went about their own business and had a base level of respect for the endeavors of others. Unless there was an emergency, no one passed through the common room yelling, running, or any other such nonsense like Hermione had reported from Gryffindor.

She needed to go where she belonged, _especially_ given what they'd discovered recently.

Magical theorists had been contemplating the idea of shared magic for hundreds – possibly thousands – of years before Tom stumbled upon the idea. The deeper he got into the concept of shared and bound magic, the more he understood hereditary gifts. Bound magic explained his ability to speak to snakes even though he was – unfortunately – a half-blood, while magical heredity was geared towards causing certain traits to repeat in families more so than it was designed to pass down skills. It was shared magic that made it possible for rare gifts such as Parseltongue to _become_ bound in such a way that they continued down family lines.

Tom theorized that Salazar Slytherin and his heirs had shared their gift with those in the family who lacked it until the absence of Parseltongue in children ceased to appear. And if _that_ were the case then Tom, as an heir of Slytherin, should be able to use his magic to give someone else the ability to talk to snakes.

There was only one person in his acquaintance that he would share such a gift with, of course, and though he was extremely eager to test his theory, he hesitated to tell her about it.

So much darkness swarmed in her mind as compared to when they'd first met. When he felt it necessary to use legilimency on her, he couldn't hold the connection long enough to gather much useful information. He could skim her surface thoughts and feelings, but the smoke and shadows that had settled - the walls, barricaded doors, and hallways that dead ended but had to lead _somewhere -_ blocked him. When he did risk going that deep into her mindscape, he always retreated feeling physically ill and sporting an awful headache.

How she went about her day with such poison in her mind was beyond him, but recently he realized something that disturbed him to the point of postponing her first official dark magic lesson.

Those mental barricades she had built weren't just keeping him out, they were keeping _her_ out too. Her mind was constantly storing away and hiding what he assumed to be the sources of her unusual mental state. The fact that someone he considered of near, if not equal, intelligence was so damaged by... _something_ that her own mind was trying to protect her from bothered more than he'd been bothered by her boggart.

Usually such information was useful to him, exciting even, but he didn't need her to fear him to secure her compliance. If anything he needed her to view him in an _opposite_ light to get her to do his bidding, but he tried not to think on that too hard. Women didn't interest him the way they did his peers and Hermione was already a challenge. She was more than clever enough for him to trust her with leading his followers, but she needed to learn Occlumency and he couldn't afford to spend so much time maintaining her mental health.

He really needed to figure out how to fix her, but his research was proving to be less worthwhile by the day. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were only so useful from afar and it seemed common for individuals with friends of the opposite sex to graduate from hugging to snogging. It was preposterous really, that his peers were so overrun by their baser urges.

He and Hermione were above such nonsense, at any rate. He'd have to check the library again. There had to be a book with the information he sought after. There was a form of 'friendship' worthy of their status, surely. He just had to find it.


	46. Fola

He made sure they had food when they met most nights. He didn't know why, but sometimes Hermione seemed as if she had completely forgotten to eat during the course of the day and they couldn't practice shared magic if she was weak from hunger.

As always, he took his time preparing his meal so that every bite would be an equal portion. Organizing and cutting his food into very specific pieces was such a familiar task that he hardly had to think about it, giving him the opportunity to study his broken dove.

She ate her food in an organized fashion as well, which made him smirk - Great minds, and all that - but her method was a bit different than his. When they'd eaten pasta again, she had meticulously twirled her noodles around the fork with great care for every bite and saved her garlic bread for last. He brought steak, salad, and potatoes another night, and she had mimicked him almost exactly in how she cut and prepared everything on her plate, but had eaten the salad, then her steak, then her potato, while he had maneuvered between the three.

She ate lasagna funny. They both cut theirs into set portions, but she ate hers one layer at a time, which was probably the most amusing thing he'd ever seen. They cut their sandwiches with forks and knives to prevent getting grease and condiments on their hands.

The fact that they shared such peculiar eating preferences made him that much more eager to share his magic with her. She was clever. She was logical. She made sense – usually. She was competent.

She deserved it.

Tom was a firm believer in people getting what they deserved, whether it be good or bad, and if his plan worked, if she succeeded in mastering one of his rare talents, then she would be rewarded appropriately. Assuming he could find an appropriate reward, of course. She was so shut down as of late that he wasn't quite sure what she enjoyed anymore.

He'd fix that. Eventually.

"Finished?" He asked, eying the crumbs on her plate with satisfaction.

Her eyes were a little brighter, a little more alive, when she nodded. She was still chewing when she reached across the coffee table to pluck a few crisps off his plate. He raised an eyebrow, refusing to show his amusement, and waited for her to _actually_ finish.

"Okay, I'm done," she announced after draining the last of her tea and licking her lips.

"Good." He closed his book and pulled himself from the floor to the sofa behind him. "Let's practice, then."

One she was situated on the sofa with her legs crossed and turned to face him, he had her hold out her left hand.

"Palm up," he instructed as he turned her hand over. "Now, you're going to hold my wrist. The heel of your hand should be in my palm."

He covered her left hand with his own and aligned their hands accordingly, wrapping his fingers around her slim wrist with ease. Her fingers were cool against his skin and for a moment her smallness annoyed him.

Small things were weak. She needed to eat more. Have a growth spurt, maybe.

He'd fix that too.

"The spell is a bit of a mouthful and it's traditionally in Parseltongue, but you'll have to say it in Irish," he explained, pulling a length of braided leather cord from his pocket with his free hand. "The goal is that you'll be able to understand me, even if you can't understand yourself."

She watched him wrap the cord around their joined hands and helped him push the loose ends of leather between their palms when he'd finished.

"How difficult will it be to pronounce?" She asked him.

He let out a heavy sigh.

"Roinnt mo chumhacht. Toinnt mo chuid fola."

She blinked at him. "Um...I got the _fola_ part."

He snorted, "Imagine trying to read or spell it."

She cringed. "It's awful, isn't it?"

"It took me forty minutes to figure out the pronunciation."

After making himself as comfortable as possible and making sure she did the same, he said, "Keep in mind that this is a very old ritual. It may not work the first time around or at all for that matter."

She shrugged. "This was your idea," she reminded him. "I'm not particularly invested in it. I'm also not sure what you're trying to accomplish."

He blinked at her. "We discussed this. The ritual should make you a Parselmouth."

"Yeah, but... _why_?"

"Does it matter?" He asked with a glare.

She frowned and looked away. "No."

"That's what I thought. Say the spell."

"Um... _fola_?"

He rubbed his temple with his free hand. It was going to be a long night.

"Repeat. Ren mah coo-at. Ren mah heudge-"

"Fola," she interrupted. "Roinnt mo chumhacht. Roinnt mo chuid fola."

"Good girl," he praised with a smile. "Now keep repeating that and tell me if you start to understand anything I say."


	47. Fourteen Pt. 1

The nineteenth of September snuck up on Hermione, but the same could not be said for her friends. Harry had nearly hugged the life out of her in the common room that morning, while Ron had muttered the necessary pleasantries before urging them towards breakfast. She hadn't minded – much – especially not when a small fleet of owls arrived for her at breakfast.

Sirius sent her a shrunken box of books from her room at Grimmauld Place, a pristine Slytherin Quidditch Jersey, charmed to look like a normal t-shirt to everyone else, with a note that read ' _Sports aren't your thing, but I thought you might like one of your own_.' Sure enough, upon flipping it over, she found _Granger_ printed on the back.

Kreacher sent her two black tie mousse cakes. One was sliced with each piece individually wrapped and under a stasis charm for her to enjoy at her leisure. The other one was still packed as a whole and shrunken down for ' _Miss 'Mione to share with her friends_ ' according to his note.

She also got a gift from Lucius and Narcissa, though she paled upon realizing the small green velvet pouch was full of galleons. She was more than grateful, but she wasn't certain if this was a ploy of Tom's to trick her into spending money or if it was Narcissa trying to give her a sense of independence from Tom's financial support. A small box with chocolate truffles was tied to the velvet pouch as well. She only knew it wasn't actually a part of her monetary gift because of a small piece of paper charmed to the lid with an obnoxiously calligraphic ' _A_ ' written on it. She'd ask Draco who it might be from later.

Another oddly signed present - ' _F. A._ ' this time – was a bag with a thick, soft pair of light grey socks, a silver shawl, and matching gloves. She wasn't even sure who to ask about the sender for that one, but she liked the gifts all the same.

A small package from her parents included a note, a tube of the new toothpaste they currently swore by, a bag of sugar-free mints, and a small handful of galleons that joined the velvet pouch from the Malfoys. Judging by the tone of the note, Hermione worried they still might be feeling guilty about missing her at the train station, despite her assurances that they needn't be.

The last present was clearly a book by its wrapping, but aside from being very heavily protected by layers upon layers of paper and charms, the gift was unmarked. Removing the last of the paper revealed a dark tomb bound in thick leather. She'd never seen the symbols embossed on the bindings and found a similar script written on the stiff pages that she flipped with care. Even without a note, she knew the book was from Tom and wondered how long it would take her to figure out its significance.

After breakfast was a double potions period with the Slytherins. Neville didn't blow up his cauldron and Hermione received exactly one house point for competency, to the shock of most of the class, but Hermione knew it was a nod to her birthday. It may have even been a nod to her true house affiliation as well.

After lunch, Ron headed to the common room to discuss Quidditch with Seamus and Dean, leaving Harry and Hermione free to meet their Slytherin friends in the library. The secret get-together included many treats and an ankle bracelet that each friend helped put together.

Draco, unoriginally, got her a small silver snake charm and smirked when she rolled her eyes at it. Tracey's charm was a small teapot and teabag that Hermione found very endearing. Theo's open book charm made her smile. She almost laughed aloud when she saw Harry's charm: a small silver sorting hat. Blaise's charm, however, gave her pause. Three silver spirals made a triangle-like shape, and in the center where the spirals met there was a small emerald. She turned to him in confusion.

"It's a Triskele," he explained. "It means a lot of things, most of which revolve around power and strength."

She eyed it again with renewed appreciation, understanding the compliment he wasn't quite saying.

"This is lovely, you lot. Thank you," she said, smiling at them each in turn.

"Oh!" Draco said suddenly, reaching down between his seat and Theo's to rummage around in his bag. "I nearly forgot!"

"Shh!" Tracey hissed. "Madame Pince will hear you."

Draco waved her off, though when he sat up spoke again he kept his voice quiet, "Mum sent me these a few days ago to give you. After she found out we'd all decided to get you the bracelet."

Hermione took the small white box from across the table and gently untied the bow. She hadn't expected anywhere near this level of fuss over her birthday, but curiosity overruled her dislike of being doted on.

After removing the lid, she was faced with even more charms for her bracelet, a few of which made her tense in surprise.

"Hermione?" Harry said from beside her. "Are you alright?"

Without answering, Hermione carefully reached into the box and pulled out a black 'M' charm of a very specific design. Draco seemed entirely unfazed, though everyone else, save for a confused Harry, seemed shocked.

"It's a pureblood thing," Draco explained quickly. "Familial claim. Used to be as good as a legal adoption a few hundred years ago, I think."

"More of a political statement now, I think," Tracey said.

Hermione carefully set it on the table and removed an equally ornate black 'B' charm, though a quiet chuckle slipped past her when she saw the paw print charm attached to it.

"Sirius," Harry said with a smile, "But you knew you were family already."

Hermione didn't correct him or bother explaining that the charm gave that knowledge significantly more weight.

Of the four charms remaining in the box, three were on a ring together. They consisted of a silver crown, a small Eiffel tower, and a mint green box with a silver bow around it. A small string tag was also on the ring and once again she was faced with the ' _A_ ' and ' _F.A_.' signatures. She showed it to Draco.

"That's Poppy," He said, pointing to the ' _A_ ' before flushing slightly. "Grandfather, I mean."

Hermione squinted at the fancy script in confusion. Why would Draco's grandfather send her gifts?

"The other one is probably great-uncle Flynn," Draco continued. "Poppy's been friends with Flynn and Lord Riddle since they went to Hogwarts."

Hermione hummed in thought. Abraxas and Avery, then, surely. It was still curious, but she supposed it made a little more sense.

The last charm, like the strange leather book, did not have any sort of note attached to it, but given the fact that it was two silver turtle doves, Hermione knew who it was from.

With a small smile, Hermione attached the rest of the charms to her bracelet and fastened it around her ankle. Since the chain was quite small, even with a substantial collection of charms on it, it wasn't very obvious to the eye. She didn't think very many people paid attention to her feet anyway, but the subtleness of the trinket pleased her.

"Happy birthday," muttered Theo from behind the book he'd been quietly lost in.

Hermione grinned brightly when the others echoed his sentiment, feeling light for the first time in weeks.


	48. Fourteen Pt. 2

She was still soaring on her birthday high when she met Tom in the room that night. He had a habit of bringing his dinner up to the room with him and was courteous enough to bring a portion for her as well. The scent of chicken noodle casserole greeted her when she entered the room.

"That smells amazing," she sighed, throwing her bag on the sofa and dropping to the floor beside the coffee table.

Tom made a quiet noise that could have been acknowledgment or agreement as he focused on getting two of each casserole ingredient onto his spoon. She watched him, amused, while he struggled to keep a chunk of carrot on his spoon and simultaneously attempted to gather another piece of celery. She nearly choked on her own food when he successfully got the celery but lost a noodle and a chunk of chicken in the process.

"Entertained?" He asked dryly, giving her a quick once over before returning to his less than efficient method of eating.

"A bit," she admitted, trying to hide her grin.

He hummed again, giving her another brief side-eye. "You're in an unusually cheerful mood today."

She opened her mouth to comment, then hesitated and closed it again. He hadn't asked her a question, but she knew he expected an answer of some sort. She didn't want to bore him with something as trivial as her birthday festivities, however. She imagined such celebrations were mundane to him and she would rather keep the day's events to herself if it meant she wouldn't bore him.

"I had a good day," she said finally, quickly stuffing another spoonful of casserole into her mouth to delay having to elaborate.

"Is that so?" He inquired, raising an amused brow. "Did you outsmart a seventh year Ravenclaw? Get called on to answer questions more often than usual, perhaps?"

She flushed, pushing noodles around in her bowl to give herself something other than his eyes to look at. That shade of blue wasn't natural or even remotely decent, surely.

" _No_. For the record I don't particularly enjoy such situations," she muttered. "People don't like being corrected."

"I don't like it when you try to change the subject," he parried. To someone who didn't know him, the soft rebuke might've sounded gentle. "You said you had a good day. How so?"

She shrugged and readied another bite of casserole. "I can't just have a decent day?" She asked, feeling his glare before she'd finished speaking. She shoved another spoonful of food in her mouth and made the stupid mistake of sparing him a glance. His expression reminded her of the boggart and she flinched, looking away before she could stop herself.

"After you've been moping around for weeks? No, you cannot just _have a decent day_ without some provocation. We don't just bounce in and out of moods on whims," he said. "I'm not repeating myself again."

Appetite lost, she swallowed the bite that had turned to ashes in her mouth and went back to playing with her food in her bowl instead of eating it. "It's not-"

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'important' I'm going to reconsider my opinion on your intelligence." His blue eyes darkened. "If I decide to inquire about something then it is important by default. _Do not_ make me remind you of that fact."

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably as the coldness of his voice pierced her and ate away at the warmth she'd been basking in since breakfast. A bitter voice in the back of her mind whispered _good feeling's gone_ and she pressed her lips into a tight line.

"I got some things in the post this morning," she muttered reluctantly. "I rarely get any owls, so that was nice. Ronald kept to himself and wasn't an almighty prat. I got to spend free period with my friends." She shrugged again. "It was a good day."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You're in an unusually good mood…because you got _mail_ ," he clarified slowly.

She held his gaze and didn't answer, hoping her half-truth was truth enough to get him off her back.

Tom shook his head and sighed in annoyance, pushing his empty bowl towards the covered dishes at the end of the table. "Are you ready to practice?"

She set her unfinished food near his dishes with a quiet affirmative and made her way to his side of the table. Steeling herself against another long night of mindless chanting, she situated herself on the sofa and held out her left hand. Her mind was already elsewhere when they began the mind-numbing exercise. She hadn't even heard his somewhat unsettling stream of hisses before letting her thoughts wander aimlessly while the familiar Irish – Gaelic? Celtic? – words tumbled from her lips over and over again.

It might be nice, she mused, to be Tom's friend. His actual friend, not a henchman like Abraxas and Avery, but someone Tom liked instead of someone he tolerated. She'd never seen or heard of him having real friends since he dismissed or outright loathed most people simply for existing.

She resisted the urge to sigh, thinking that if she did then the last remnants of her birthday cheer would escape through her lips. Her free hand played with the turtle dove charm on her ankle as she thought about the equally unsettling adult version of the boy before her.

She wasn't sure which of them was the less confusing one anymore, but at least his adult self greeted her with a smile. He was a frustrating, overbearing prat, but he always seemed happy to see her...

A shock ran up her arm, causing her to yelp in surprise and glare at Tom, but he still had his eyes closed in concentration.

"What was that for?" She snapped.

His eyes flicked open just long enough to give her an odd look before he closed them again.

"Divide my power. Divide my blood. Divide my power. Divide my-"

"That's barbaric!" She gasped. "Is _that_ what I've been saying every time we do this?"

His eyes opened again, but this time they were blazing with an emotion she didn't recognize.

"Hermione..." He said slowly, his voice sounding slightly funny, but she couldn't place the accent.

"What?" She asked, giving him a concerned stare.

A slow, unsettling smile curled his lips. "You can understand me."

She blinked. "Um. Yes?"

He looked positively predatory.

" _Perfect_ ," He purred in a whisper. "What a little gem you are, Dove."

She flushed slightly. "I haven't done anything..."

But Tom wasn't paying attention to her anymore. He was removing the leather cord from their hands while his eyes retained that scary glint. If it was anyone else she'd tell him he was frightening her, but there were some things you didn't admit aloud to people like Tom. Fear was one of them, though he probably knew just how unsettling he was without her having to admit it.

"What else can I teach you, I wonder?" He muttered to himself, his voice back to normal, as he put the cord away.

She watched as he dug through his belongings, finally finding one of his journals and a quill, and proceeded to write furiously upon the blank pages. He snapped the books shut almost as quickly as he'd opened them and startled her when he stood and yanked her up with him.

Suddenly she was crushed against him, her face buried against the soft fabric of his uniform shirt while his arms coiled tightly – almost painfully – around her.

"What would you like, Dove?" He murmured above her, his voice resonating through his chest against her cheek. "What shall your reward be for a job well done?"

Her face flushed as she carefully wound her arms around him as well in an attempt to make their position feel less awkward. It didn't work. "I haven't done anything," she said quietly.

He squeezed her a little tighter for a moment. "You _have_. Your magic was able to accept – _strong enough_ to accept – a rare and powerful trait from mine," he said, his voice dulcet and hypnotic. "That makes you _worthy_ of the gift, Hermione. It makes you a cut above the rest, the purebloods, the half-bloods, _all of them_. It makes you like _me_."

She swallowed hard. "I still didn't do it consciously…" She muttered, deciding to contemplate his arrogance later.

"That doesn't matter," he argued, pulling back just enough to stare at her with those wickedly bright blue eyes, eyes that currently reminded her of her witch-light flames. "You're a Parselmouth now. That's – It's," He let out a frustrated sigh, struggling for words. Hermione found the sight of him so animated, so…not in control, as fascinating as it was terrifying. "There are no words," he said at last, with a blazing conviction. "This is _above_ words, Dove. Can't you see that?"

She couldn't, not the way he seemed to want her to, but she tried very hard to wrap her mind around his enthusiasm. "I'm glad you're…pleased," she said carefully. 'Happy' seemed too trite a term to describe him, somehow. Tom Riddle didn't do 'happy', to her knowledge. "I don't entirely understand it, I admit, but I'm glad nonetheless."

He shook his head, trying to shake off his inability to understand _her_ inability to understand. "Nevermind that now," he said quickly, "answer me."

She had gotten distracted by the colors swirling – due to his magic flaring – in his eyes, and answered a few seconds too late. "Um," she struggled, cheeks burning as she promptly hid her face against his shirt. "T-this is fine…"

She could feel his confusion.

"What? Just…a…a hug?" He sounded almost offended, as if he had been fully prepared for her to beg him for diamonds or other such treasures. "But we do this _every time_ we see each other."

She shrugged. "I don't really need anything."

He scoffed. "This isn't about _need_. Gifts aren't about _needs_. This is special. Pick something you _want_."

"I did," she said in a very small voice.

Tom stilled again and was suddenly quiet. She looked down, embarrassed by her own honesty, and started mumbling about how he didn't have to while pulling away. Really, a reward wasn't even necessary in this instance anyway.

"Hush," he muttered, tugging her back where he'd been holding her before and resting his chin atop her head like he always did without further complaint.


	49. Fourteen Pt. 3

She was about to leave when he noticed the glint of silver on her ankle.

"What is that?" He asked, frowning at the chain. Hermione was certain he couldn't make out any of the charms from his position on the sofa.

"A bracelet," she said, successfully keeping her tone nonchalant.

His eyes narrowed. "You don't wear jewelry."

She shrugged. "It was a gift."

His posture shifted in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "For what occasion?" He asked, his eyes glittering like dark sapphires.

She really needed to stop looking at those eyes.

"Don't," he said suddenly, cutting her off just as she'd started to open her mouth. "You're about to lie to me. It's written all over your face. I am in a _very_ good mood and I'm _very_ pleased with you. Do us both a favor and don't ruin it."

Her teeth snapped shut at the order and she glared at the floor. Having her head pointing down made her realize that her clothes still smelled like him from their longer-than-usual hug earlier. She was secretly counting the extra affection as her birthday present from him, but she hadn't expected to still smell like espresso, some sort of incense, and rain – how did someone smell of rain without being in it, anyway? But Tom managed and the smell of him on her clothes caused a funny feeling to stir in her chest. The same funny feeling she felt if she looked at his pretty eyes for too long.

"Um," she began lamely, distracted from her anger by his scent.

" _Honesty_ ," he prodded.

She sighed, resigning herself to defeat. "It was a birthday present."

She continued to stare at the floor and tried to enjoy the ghost of his scent on her clothes while his eyes slowly drilled holes into her head. She didn't look up – which, in hindsight, probably would have been the best thing to do – but instead tried to focus on the not unpleasant twinge of feelings she didn't know how to make sense of. He really did smell lovely.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

It was how softly he said the words that made her glance up, startled. He was still looking at her quite intensely, but his eyes were completely shuttered. Whatever was going on in his head wasn't for her to know, not that she was privy to his thoughts and feelings even on a good day.

"I…" She swallowed. "I thought it would bore you," she muttered. "I didn't want to bother you with something trivial."

He stared at her with those unreadable, beautiful, eyes for what felt like an eternity. "You should have told me."

Hermione wasn't sure if she should be relieved or worried that he still didn't sound angry. "I didn't think you'd find it interesting," she said. "I…I _would_ have told you, but…" _I didn't think you'd care._

"What's the date," he asked, his voice still void of emotion. "On your side."

"The nineteenth. September," she said quickly.

"You should have told me," he repeated.

She looked away, feeling a dissociated sense of guilt. It wasn't as if she meant to be _deceptive_ , she'd just been trying to spare him... "I'm sorry."

After shuffling awkwardly for a few more moments, she finally turned towards the door, muttering a quiet farewell as she tried to escape.

"Forgetting something?"

When she turned back around he was standing and looking at her oddly. She blushed when he held out a hand expectantly.

Again?

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, she shuffled back over to him and tried to breathe normally when his arms wrapped around her once more.

Espresso.

Incense.

Petrichor.

"Bye, Dove."

"Bye," she mumbled, both relieved and disappointed when he let her go.

* * *

Tom lay awake in his bed for quite some time mulling over the various highs and lows of the evening. He had been ecstatic when the magic sharing took hold, overwhelmed with pride for Hermione and pleased beyond words that his prediction had been correct, that she _was_ worthy of such a gift. But she had been...uninterested, to say the least, as if she were appeasing him. She _had_ been appeasing him, which would have been fine if she was an underling.

She also hadn't told him about her _birthday_ , which confused him to no end. He knew for a _fact_ that friends celebrated each other's birthdays. He'd watched several such displays in the Great Hall. Her other friends had known about her birthday well in advance, judging by the number of small charms he'd seen connected to the bracelet, though he hadn't been able to make all the shapes out from a distance. Why were they allowed to know such things and he wasn't?

Tom realized that this newest development probably stemmed from whatever had caused her boggart to take his form, from whatever had poisoned and darkened her mind so thoroughly. Though that didn't stop him from being offended. She was his ' _friend_ ', that much he had long since decided, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to be _her_ friend and he really didn't want to observe the Hufflepuffs more than absolutely necessary. Let alone adapt their practices. They were downright smothering with one another at times.

He'd scour the library again and, if all else failed, possibly consult his boys. Though it would be much easier to find a solution if he could weasel the problem out of her.

He was still frustrated when he finally fell asleep.


	50. Knights Ponder

Abraxas' spoon paused between his bowl and his mouth when Avery leaned towards him.

"He's doing it again," the ashy blond whispered.

Abraxas counted exactly nine and a half seconds before glancing at their leader. The 'he' in question was, once again, spending the meal watching the masses. An outsider would probably assume Tom Riddle – prefect, prodigy, and golden boy – was simply daydreaming or staring into space while he ate, but the Knights of Walpurgis knew better. Tom was _paying attention_ to _other people_ on _purpose_ , and had been doing so consistently for a concerning amount of time.

Though if Abraxas was being honest, Tom had been acting strangely since last Halloween.

When he turned back to Avery, it was to find him frowning wearily at Tom.

"Do you think it has to do with Wendy?" Avery continued in a hushed tone.

"Not sure," Abraxas murmured back. Clearing his throat, he addressed the teen in question, "Tom? Is there something we can help with?"

Riddle blinked once, slowly, before he snapped back to reality and fixed his stare on Abraxas.

"Possibly," Tom answered carefully. His eyes narrowed. "I have news about my-" It took every ounce of self-control Abraxas possessed not to raise an eyebrow or react in any way when Tom censored himself. "-about Wendy."

With his face a perfect mask of neither interest nor disinterest, Abraxas patiently waited for Tom to continue.

"I devised an experiment as a...test of sorts. Wendy is a very capable witch, but I wanted to find her limits. She passed, flawlessly, and much sooner than I expected."

Abraxas and Avery shared a glance, before the latter said, "This is excellent news, Tom."

"It is," Tom agreed, "But she – like so many prodigies – needs...reassurance of her own competence more often than I am accustomed."

"Don't you typically try to avoid... _befriending_ such people?" Abraxas asked carefully.

Tom hummed. "Typically, yes, but Wendy is a prodigy of prodigies. She has proved herself and ancient magic has deemed her worthy." Tom paused while his words sank in. "Wendy is my protégée, yes, but once she has learned all that I have to teach her, she will be no less than a... partner in all my endeavors."

Avery swallowed, only just barely able to cover up his nervousness before asking, "If the lady pleases you, will she become-"

" _No_."

The Knights flinched at his tone.

"Such an idea would be nothing less than disrespectful to _suggest_ to her, let alone enact," Tom continued in a quiet hiss. "I would never disgrace her in such a way. She's far too _powerful_ to be belittled so thoroughly and far _, far_ too _precious_ to _-"_

Just by looking at Abraxas, one would never know Tom's last sentence hadn't ended at _thoroughly_ , even though the tension following Tom's unfinished thought was nearly tangible.

"Perhaps trinkets," Avery offered quietly, pretending Tom's last words weren't hanging unfinished between them.

"Small tokens of affection or approval," added Abraxas. "If her confidence is truly so low, perhaps a consistent stream of gifts and words of encouragement would not be amiss?"

Tom's slight frown made Abraxas wonder if he hadn't already been trying similar methods.

"Without being properly versed in the specifics of your relationship, I'm afraid I haven't any additional advice to offer..." Avery said remorsefully.

Abraxas was suddenly struck with a horrifying thought and didn't manage to smooth his expression quickly enough to go unnoticed.

"Malfoy," Tom said, his voice a warning. "Thoughts?"

"I mean no disrespect to the lady," the pale blond began hesitantly, "But...women are generally creatures of heart, are they not? What if she does not share your sentiments on..." He paused, struggling and looking to Avery for help.

"On matters of affection between the two of you?" Avery offered weakly. "Tom, no one is blind to how women respond to you," he added carefully, "If she knows your views on the subject, but – even unwillingly – doesn't share them..."

"Then there would be very little you could do to absolve her of such meddlesome confidence issues," Abraxas finished. "Unless of course her attentions were diverted elsewhere, but that would likely put significant strain on her loyalty to you..."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I appreciate abstract thinking as much as the next person," he told them, "but do try to come up with something a bit more believable for me to work with." Abraxas and Avery watched wearily as Tom stood and packed away his things. "Speaking of Wendy, I have a meeting. Stay out of trouble while I'm gone. Let me know if you think of anything that's actually useful."

They watched him walk away, sighing in relief once he'd slipped out of the great hall, and turned to one another.

"Positive emotions aren't his strong suit," began Avery quietly.

"Let alone matters of the heart," mumbled Abraxas.

Avery chewed his bottom lip. "He's mentioned that time is a bit funny between them. She's a third year or something, right? But she was a second year barely two months ago..."

"Which means she'll age more quickly than we will, if that much time has truly passed for her," Abraxas added, nodding slowly. "It also means Tom's presence in her life will be 'longer' than her presence in his."

"Prodigies don't tend to have many friends," Avery commented. "Especially the ones who feel the need to constantly have their own cleverness reassured."

"'Know-it-all' is typically the term coined."

"They're a lonely lot. Tom's proof that they're hard pressed to find intellectual equals."

They stared at the doors where their leader had vanished.

"Do you think he realizes he cares for her?" Avery asked.

"Absolutely," Abraxas answered. "But only in a sense that he understands, I'm sure. I doubt he comprehends just how his...attentiveness towards the girl would be perceived."

"By us or her?" Avery wondered.

"She knows," Abraxas said, pushing away his breakfast. "If she's truly as clever as he's certain she is, she knows he only cares for her to the extent he's capable of. She has to. And that's why she's suddenly miserable when last we heard she was an eager little thing with an unfortunate sorting experience."

Avery sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "This cannot end well."

"Don't go counting chickens," scolded Abraxas quietly. "We haven't met the girl. We haven't seen him when he's with her. Maybe..."

Avery stared at him, eyes wide. "You don't think..."

Abraxas looked at him sharply, grey eyes stony. "I do think. You weren't with him in Divination last week, Flynn. He brushed off his tea leaf reading but I don't recall ever getting an improper prediction for Tom."

Avery swallowed and asked, "What was in his leaves?"

"A parasol in a birdcage and a sickle." At Avery's blank stare, Abraxas sighed and gave his friend a disdainful glare. "Oh, _honestly_ , don't you read? A parasol represents a new lover. Birdcages mean obstacles and difficulties. A sickle stands for disappointment in love."

Avery shrugged. "I'm only taking that stupid course because it's simple and Professor Ashling is easy on the eyes."

Abraxas rolled his eyes. "You're a disgrace to men and magic everywhere."

"Prude."

"I can appreciate a woman's figure for all its visual pleasantness," Malfoy argued bitterly, "But I was raised well enough to be less obvious about such appreciations. Clearly the Averys have forgotten good breeding."

Flynn sighed dramatically. "Here we go again. Shall I send for Mulciber, Lestrange, and Black so you can all discuss what the world is coming to?"

With a haughty sniff, Abraxas shouldered his bag and stood. "I'll be in the library studying for our O.W.L.s.," he announced, then under his breath added, "Uncultured swine."

"Elitist snob."

"Emphasis on _elite_."

"Piss off, _Abracadabra_."

A notebook collided with the back of Avery's ashy blond head loud enough to sound painful, but without actually being so, and as Abraxas left the hall in a snit, Avery grinned.

It was really too easy to rile the prat sometimes.


	51. Bluffing

Hermione was already in the room fussing over homework when Tom arrived, but tonight he noticed just how many books she had strewn about.

"What are you doing?" He asked, setting his own bag on his designated sofa and eying the open titles, some piled atop others, strewn across hers.

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3. Unfogging the Future. Intermediate Transfiguration. The Monster Book of Monsters. Numerology and Grammatica. Spellman's Syllabary. The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts._

"You're taking everything except Muggle Studies?"

She glanced up at his accusatory tone. "Yes...?"

He ground his teeth. " _Why_?"

"I wanted to."

Tom mentally counted backwards from ten in Latin before replying. "When exactly, between attempts at chipping away at your obscene amount of coursework, do you find time to eat, sleep, and come up here every other night?" He asked through clenched teeth.

She blinked slowly, and he realized just how tired her eyes were, how well she hid it. _This_ , he realized, _this is why you haven't been eating_.

"I manage," she answered, returning her attention to the book and parchment balanced in her lap.

He watched her for several moments, his mind working furiously.

"What are you trying to prove?" He asked suddenly, causing her writing hand to still. "And by the same token, _who_ are you trying to prove yourself to?"

Her quill resumed its quiet scratching. "I just want to do my best," she said quietly.

But Tom still didn't understand. She _was_ the best, second only to himself, and even then only because of how much she still had to learn from him. The shared magic experiment had proved that. _Salazar Slytherin's_ magic had melded with her own, via himself. She didn't _need_ to prove herself to the commoners when she was already in the good graces of the King.

Instead of voicing those thoughts however, Tom decided to mull them over a little longer. She shut down when he argued with her, and he needed her to be more open with him if he was going to figure out how to fix her. So, rather than yelling at her for behaving like a plebe, Tom plucked the two rolled, unsealed scrolls from the coffee table and busied himself with looking over her essays.

"You don't have to do that," she muttered a little while later.

He resisted the urge to snort. "I'm well aware."

Silence fell between them once again and this time it persisted until he'd finished both essays.

"You do know that they don't actually read these, don't you?" He told her. "They skim them for keywords, maybe look at a paragraph or two for the sake of checking general sentence structure, but the only people who are going to appreciate the attention to detail and depth of thought in your arguments are sitting in this room."

"Professor Snape reads every essay," she muttered absently as she glanced between her Arithmancy and Divination texts. "So does McGonagall."

"The rest don't," he argued. _Stop wasting your energy._

She shrugged. "I don't care."

His jaw clenched. "It's inefficient."

"It's _thorough_."

"You can only learn so much in one day," he hissed, his hopes of not arguing with her vanishing. "How am _I_ supposed to teach you anything when you can't even manage to complete your basic studies and take care of yourself?"

She looked up at him and frowned. "What are you talking about? I'm fine."

He counted backwards in Latin again. "When was the last time you ate?"

The indignation in her eyes slowly faded as she tried to recall, until she looked equal parts defeated and annoyed.

"When, Dove?" He goaded, unable to help his bitter arrogance.

She hesitated. "...Yesterday."

His narrowed his eyes. "We've discussed dishonesty far too many times recently."

"I'm not lying," she said.

"No? When yesterday, then?"

She shifted uncomfortably on the couch as the temperature of his blood rose.

"Of course, you wouldn't be lying if you were referring to _yesterday_ for me, as in the day before yesterday for you. Since I brought you food and you were still eating after midnight your time, which would, _technically_ , be _yesterday_."

They had reached an impasse – _again_ – he noted with no small amount of annoyance. This was getting out of hand. All his leads in the library had turned up dry. Abraxas and Avery had only come up with preposterous notions to explain her behavior, thus far, at least, and he had no direction for how to rectify this issue.

He really just didn't have the patience for her today.

"I'll say this once," he began slowly. "If you were Avery or Abraxas – and I _like_ Abraxas – you'd have been on the floor screaming five arguments ago." He sucked in a breath while her eyes stayed trained on one of the rugs. "Even if time passed evenly between us, I wouldn't have time to babysit you and make sure you completed the most basic of daily tasks," he continued. One hand reached up to swipe back his hair. "All this time you spend arguing with me is time I could be teaching you fifth year material. It's time you could be learning stronger forms of magic, darker forms of magic." He paused eyeing her statuesque posture with unease. "Stop wasting our time and tell me what's wrong so I can figure out how to fix it."

She looked up at him then and his discomfort grew at the detachment in eyes. She was compartmentalizing again, shutting down, shutting him out.

What was she trying to hide?

She blinked and the void look in her eyes shifted back to the base-level of curiosity and knowing he was used to. The transition was so seamless that for a moment he forgot about the shadows lurking under the mask.

 _That_ worried him. Deeply. He used masks just as thorough for other people, but he didn't _care_ the way she did. Honesty wasn't a law of life to him, whereas she used to default to it by nature. She was…out Slytherin-ing him.

He didn't like it. It was _wrong_.

"Sorry," she said lightly, her tone betraying none of her previous irritation. "I've been so busy that I keep forgetting the Great Hall even exists. I'll be more diligent."

He felt a mixture of horror, pride, and respect as he stared at her, his little snake in lion's robes.

"Be sure that you do," he said quietly, choosing not to call her bluff for now. "Finish up. I want you to be a proficient dueler by the time I go on holiday."


	52. Crookshanks

Appearances, Hermione learned, were hard things to keep up. She was taking seven courses and despite being well versed in the third year curriculum thanks to Tom, she still had a daunting amount of assignments to tackle. Sometimes she did homework while spending time with Harry and their Slytherin friends in the library, but sometimes she had to work in the Gryffindor common room, exposing herself to Ron's trying personality. Ginny, Fred, and George she liked to see, but Ronald hadn't apologized for his behavior last term and had not found his way back into her good graces.

All that work, however, left her with very little time to remember to eat. It was dumb luck that she could see her friends and study at the same time, but if their schedules didn't align the way they did, she wouldn't be socializing at all.

Naturally, Tom had noticed that she often forgot meals or just flat out didn't have time to go to the Great Hall. She hated lying to him, which was proven by how unsuccessful she usually was when she tried, but when it became a necessity, like it was now, she managed.

Besides, he had made himself perfectly clear. This wasn't about her health, it was about making sure she could participate in his lessons, which stung. Especially after she realized she had an unwanted crush on him.

Being Tom Riddle's favorite tool wasn't as nice as one would think.

Not to mention the weekly annoyance that was Divination, where all of the symbols in her predictions reminded her of him in some way...

Things would start looking up eventually, she supposed, even if her predictions suggested otherwise. That class was rubbish anyway.

Crookshanks slipped out of the Gryffindor common room as a group of students were returning from their Astronomy lesson. He was careful, as the new ribbon collar Mistress had given him had a small bell on it that made a pleasing noise when he walked. The only downside to his satin trinket was it alerted the rat-thing to his presence much sooner than he would like.

Rat-thing smelled similarly to Sirius the dog-human and Crookshanks was fairly certain Mistress didn't know that. Just like Mistress didn't seem to know about her mate, but that he could understand. There were two of them after all. Mistress was probably confused.

Crookshanks prided himself for having figured out Mistress's mate situation. One version of her mate simply wasn't her mate _yet_ , but they were the same human. And Mistress's humans were Crookshanks's humans.

Hence why he was making his way through the castle instead of curled up with his lady. Mistress couldn't see her mate every night, but Crookshanks wondered if he could still go to the hidden vanishing room without her.

He'd followed her up to the room enough times to know the path, and, as Mistress was so kind to point out often, usually with treats, Crooks was a very clever boy indeed. He sat a little ways in front of the wall where Mistress's door usually appeared and stared. After a while, the corridor began to shimmer and Crookshanks could see not only the hallway where he sat, but the same hallway with Mistress's would-be-mate.

Clever Crookshanks.

When Mistress's mate made his door appear, Crooks quickly made his way to the wall and hesitantly put a paw forward as the door opened.

His paw went through.

He wondered how to tell Mistress so he might get a treat.

Mistress's mate didn't notice Crookshanks at first, and Crooks used the opportunity to observe from the shadows as he liked to do. It was how he kept an eye on the Rat-thing and had proved quite effective thus far.

When he finally did grow bored of his espionage, he let out a rolling, "Mreow" to alert Mistress's mate of his presence. The boy startled slightly. Crooks felt smug.

"How did you get here, Cat? Shouldn't you be with Mummy?"

 _Mistress_ – What did he _look_ like? A kitten? - and yes, probably. But what did that matter?

"Reow."

"How'd you get in here anyway?"

Crooks prodded over to the sofa and made himself comfortable. He really didn't understand why the humans talked to him as if he could respond. Well, except for Mistress. She seemed to understand him just fine. And Mistress's _other_ mate.

Mistress's young mate sent Crooks the same glare that often upset Mistress.

"Rude little beastie."

Crooks hissed half-heartedly. He would be nice when Mistress stopped being upset all the time.

"Is she alright?"

Crookshanks gave his lady's human the same look he gave the loud human Mistress didn't like. The one who's name Crookshanks didn't care to remember. The one with Rat-thing.

"Arsehole."

Mistress's human was a hypocrite. He was also talking to a half-kneazle. Her other mate was definitely the smarter of the two.

"Piss off, Cat, I'm busy."

Crookshanks did not 'piss off', but stuck around while 'Mummy's – _honestly –_ mate got out several books and began reading. Crookshanks hadn't quite figured out all the symbols in Mistress's language yet, but Mistress had learned that he liked to listen to her read aloud. He was learning. Still, he hadn't learned enough to figure out what the boy was reading.

Naturally, the room remained quite just long enough for Crooks to start dozing off before the boy talked again. What was the word Mistress used? Prick. Her human was a prick.

"Any chance you know how I can fix her, Crookshanks?"

Oh look, the human _did_ know Crooks' name. Granted, Crooks knew the human's name as well, but refused to use it, since the human was a prick. Perhaps not being a prick would help in his quest to 'fix' Mistress.

"I know you're cleverer than you act," prick-human continued. "But how clever is 'clever' with a cat? Can you understand what I say?"

Crooks opened an eye. "Mreow."

"Was that a 'yes'?"

Crookshanks really preferred talking to Mistress's other mate.

"Mreow."

Crooks closed his eye again while prick frowned the way Mistress did when she was thinking very hard. If this human's forehead got all scrunchy Crooks was _not_ getting down to bop him between the eyes. There were many things Crookshanks would do only for his Mistress. He really didn't like many other humans enough to bother.

Besides, it made Mistress smile.

"I wonder if Legilimency would work on a cat..." Prick-human mused.

Crookshanks wondered if his thoughts were in cat or English. Cats didn't really talk the way humans did, but he supposed they had their own language in a way. It was a much simpler language, at the very least.

"Would you let me try?"

Crookshanks opened his eyes again to look at Mistress's mate. Was the human talking about when he used staring magic? It didn't seem to hurt when he did it to Mistress...Crooks supposed the human could try.

If it worked Crookshanks could actually call him an idiot, instead of trying to convey his thoughts in cat. He sat up, taking his time to stretch before giving the human his attention.

The human whispered his magic word and Crookshanks could feel the slightly invasive sensation of the staring magic. It was odd, but it didn't hurt, so his raised hackles settled quickly.

"Bloody hell," human muttered. "You are smarter than I gave you credit for. Apologies, Cat."

Acceptance pending, human.

The boy snorted. "Cheeky thing. Right then. What's wrong with your Mummy?"

 _Mistress_ is heavy-sad. Sometimes it's your fault.

The human's discomforted frown pleased Crookshanks. Serves the human right.

"Vindictive little beastie," said the human, frowning. "My name is Tom."

Crookshanks knew what the human's name was.

Human sighed. "You're about as cooperative as she is, aren't you?"

Crookshanks meowed smugly. He was. And proud to be.


	53. Cherie and Fiendfyre

Tom's trek down to the Chamber was predictably uneventful. He'd made his prefect rounds already and given Abraxas a list of the projects to discuss with the other Knights while they convened in his absence. Tom had them working on various research projects that would, in time, aid his own personal endeavors, but he had more than just his O.W.L.s to prepare for before the end of term.

Hermione being in the castle without him was a concern.

She was hiding her ill humor well and even though he hadn't acknowledged it openly, he was still fully aware of it. If anything were to happen, Tom — and his repertoire of offensive spells and dark making — would not be at her disposal. Given the fact that the Pettigrew person she'd told him about hadn't been found by the aurors yet, he wasn't going to assume she was out of harm's way.

Or trust her professors to protect her properly, especially with  _Dumbledore_  as her headmaster.

Tom's jaw clenched in annoyance as he stepped into the main foyer of the chamber. The time difference between them was not working in his favor. His summer holiday would encompass the better part of a year on her side of their connection, putting her at the beginning of her fourth year as he started his sixth.

And he'd considered  _her_  summer holiday an annoyance...

He brooded as he impatiently waited for Chersydri — who preferred going by her original master's pet name of  _Cherie_ — to respond to his summons. He could hear her growing near, but his mood made the few moments between his call and her arrival seem like an eternity.

He needed to make sure Cherie understood the rules. Then, and only then, could he tell Hermione how to access the Chamber herself.

* * *

Thankfully, Tom's praises of Hermione's magical prowess and telling Cherie how she came to be a parselmouth was enough for the basilisk's wariness of Hermione's parentage to vanish.

"Salazar was not against integrating fresh magical blood into society," Cherie said to him. "He worried about exposure and what would become of us all if there was an influx of wizards who did not view age old cultural customs with the respect they deserve. If the girl is as you say, then not only will she have that respect, but she'll also thirst for such knowledge, and her pureblooded companions will satisfy her curiosity accordingly."

Tom was able to relax even more when, after getting over her initial anxieties about being in the presence of a giant snake, Hermione seemed to get along with Cherie rather well. Even Crookshanks managed to get along with her, which came as a surprise since the little beast seemed to hate everyone except Hermione.

"In the event that there's still a murderer on the loose by the time I go on holiday, and any time I'm not around, really, this is your safe room," Tom said. "Basilisks have more control over their abilities than most people know. Cherie's gaze will not kill you unless she wants it to. She knows your magical signature now. You're immune."

Given how queerly Hermione had been behaving recently, Tom chose to omit the fact that Cherie  _could_  revoke that immunity at will, though only with Tom's permission.

Frowning slightly, no doubt due to the myriad of questions she had apparently decided not to ask, Hermione turned her attention back to the basilisk. "It's nice to meet you," she said in parseltongue. "I'll try not to bother you unless absolutely necessary."

Tom could sense Cherie's amusement before she spoke. "Nonsense, child. I surely wouldn't deny the company."

Tom allowed a smug smile to tug at his lips, too pleased with his own success to bother stifling it, as Hermione offered Cherie a small smile.

* * *

In the eyes of some wizards, the Fiendfyre curse and the Patronus charm were opposites. Tom certainly considered them such. They weren't of the same coin, but they were similar enough in nature that they could be categorized together. The patronus, specifically corporeal forms, was a manifestation of happiness brought forth to defend the caster. Fiendfyre also had singular corporeal manifestations when cast by a strong enough wizard, but it was an offensive spell by design.

Mastering both, in Tom's eyes, was a good indicator of balance in a person as well as a test of power. It took a lot of light to make a corporeal patronus and a lot of dark to make corporeal Fiendfyre.

When Tom had originally learned each spell, his manifestations had been serpents. He saw it as being quite fitting, a testament to his heritage even, but recently his patronus had changed, though he wasn't sure why. If it hadn't been another predator, he'd be far more annoyed by it, though he had been researching the matter trying to understand what could cause it to change forms. His Fiendfyre was still a Basilisk, thankfully, so he wasn't overly concerned.

But then he'd taught the curse to Hermione, expecting her Fiendfyre to be a snake like her patronus, just as his had been previously. Instead he watched a fox dance mischievously around the protected space, failing to catch anything aflame since it hadn't been summoned with pyromantic intent.

Hermione smiled at it.

Tom pretended to.

When she left that night, her Fiendfyre extinguished and lesson successful, Tom stayed in the Room of Requirement a while longer, thinking.

He raised his wand, not really paying attention when he summoned a memory, and cast the patronus charm.

His new patronus burst forth easily with its bushy tail flicking about in a way that was almost playful, if not teasing. It was small, he thought, and female from what he could tell given his limited knowledge of the species. She pranced circles in the air around him, wove between his legs, and vanished in the middle of a roll. A little vixen.

A fox.

He added magical manifestations to his list of things to research more thoroughly. If his findings weren't concrete, he'd ask Abraxas if there were any pureblood legends on the phenomenon.

If nothing else, it was a curious coincidence, to say the least.


	54. Waxing Discontent, Waning Patience

Hermione toyed with the letters she kept folded in the back of the journal as she tried to pen a reply to her parents. Her mother's frantic apology letter had come a day after she'd arrived at Hogwarts and Hermione was quick to reply with assurances that they shouldn't worry about it, she was fine and glad they had the chance to potentially expand the practice. The next day, another, equally frantic letter had arrived, though Hermione's reply couldn't have possibly reached home yet, and since it came from Ares, Hermione knew Tom was responsible.

They knew about the dementor attack.

Hermione had written another reply, that one also reassuring, though not as genuinely as the first, and she'd sent that one back with Ares as quickly as she could. They were still worried about her, and she wished they wouldn't be, but their next two letters had been calmer, less serious. Still, Hermione had taken to keeping the missives with her. They were a nice read when she was feeling particularly down and the paper was clearly from her mother's home office as it still smelled faintly of her perfume.

She spent another thirty minutes trying to explain how much she was learning without mentioning her sporadic lessons with the younger version of Tom or her lingering discontent since the dementor attack and boggart lesson. With what felt like a lackluster letter in hand, she headed for the owlery.

Her reply would have to do for now.

* * *

Harry's fidgeting caught Draco's attention, which alerted the other official Slytherins to the tension radiating from the 'Gryffindor' end of their study table.

"Something the matter, mate?" Theo asked rolling his eyes at Draco and Blaise's unsure glances. Then, feigning ignorance, he added, "Essay giving you trouble?"

"No," Harry muttered. "Quidditch is starting up again."

"We love Quidditch," said Draco.

"And Gryffindor hates Slytherin."

The glare Hermione was drilling into her homework said more than she could've even if she wrote a six-foot essay detailing her frustration, and Tracey frowned in sympathy for her friends.

"I mean, Slytherin doesn't say anything nice about Gryffs behind closed doors either," Blaise said slowly. "People tend to say more than they ought when they think they're surrounded by like-minded friends."

"It's more than that," said Hermione quietly. "It's goes beyond that."

"I'm sorry," Tracey said helplessly. "Is there anything we can do?"

Hermione and Harry shook their heads and the former muttered quiet thanks, but was certain there was no sort of interference any of them could run that would fix anything.

"Why can't you leave yet?" Theo asked.

Harry and Hermione both mumbled separate excuses, making it painfully clear to their should-be-housemates that they were afraid to bring up the topic with each other.

"Well, when things die down a bit, Blaise, Theo, and I have an empty bed in our dorm," Draco said.

"Daphne and I do too," Tracey added.

"Well," Theo began, saving Harry and Hermione from having to respond, "at least there's room where you belong. Might be a bit awkward if there wasn't."

The hopeful Slytherins watched their quiet companions in sullen silence while Harry and Hermione pointedly kept their attention on their homework.

* * *

Abraxas waited until Tom had finished cutting and organizing the food on his plate, as he was meticulous about doing, before clearing his throat and speaking.

"My parents intend to spend the summer away," he said. "I'm allowed to invite a few friends over if I wish. I was hoping you and Avery hadn't made holiday plans as of yet."

Tom shrugged. "Nothing comparably interesting, no."

"Sounds like a good time to me," said Avery. Dropping his voice, he added, "Will being away from the school impact collaboration with Wendy?"

Tom's scowl answered Avery's question before he did. "Unfortunately, yes. She's…in an interesting state at the moment. I'm still looking for ways to bring her back to herself, but she and I will be apart for a significant amount of time on her end. I've started researching ways to lessen the potential setbacks that separation will likely cause."

"Enchanted mirrors?" Abraxas suggested. "It would let you communicate face to face. I'm not sure if they work through time, but they could be worth looking into?"

"Maybe the distance will be beneficial?" said Avery. "Perhaps she needs time to evaluate her worth without your immediate influence."

Tom frowned at his plate. "Perhaps. I have much to consider concerning her summer arrangements before we sit our O.W.L.s."

Abraxas and Avery, unwilling to risk further prying, refocused on their lunches in silence.

* * *

Hermione eyed the large, flat, leather-bound books before her and gave Tom an inquiring glance.

"Notes," he said, by way of explanation. "Think of it as your beginner's guide to 'dark' magic." He rolled his eyes as he said the words. "I prefer 'useful' but the faint of heart are incapable of viewing 'dark' spells as anything but dangerous, even though magic is mostly based on intent."

She nodded, understanding her task. "Okay. What should I focus on first? I thought we already started dark magic training with the Fiendfyre."

"Fiendfyre is neutral in my book," said Tom. "It's akin to the Patronus charm, but has the ability to be violent and weak wizards can't control it, so they do what they always do with things they're not strong enough to wield properly: Label it as dark and make it illegal, regardless of the fact that it's easily a combat or protective spell when studied objectively."

Hermione flipped through the pages of the top book, skimming its contents with a frown. "This isn't dark. Just advanced. A bit of blood magic, but still. How does pricking your finger to enhance a Divination ritual make it dark? Even if Divination is rubbish."

Tom glared at her. "Don't discount a branch of magic just because you dislike it. If it's difficult for you, master it. If it doesn't make sense to you, learn more about it. But don't ignore magic with that much potential to benefit you."

Hermione stared at him. " _You_  believe in Divination?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not fool enough to ignore prophecy when I've seen even the smallest predictions come true."

"Coincidence," she said.

" _Magic_ ," he countered. "Muggles can't predict the future, I'll give you that much. But magic breaks most of the scientific laws Muggles have created to explain their world as it is. Their rules don't apply to us."

Feeling chastised, Hermione dropped the argument. "So what am I focusing on?" she asked again.

Tom shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Whatever you manage to read by tomorrow — _my_  tomorrow — is what we'll discuss. If you don't get to the reading beforehand, let me know and I'll alter my plans a touch."

Unsure, Hermione nodded again. "Alright," she agreed. "Anything else?"

Tom made a face, his gaze going to her feet where Crookshanks was rubbing his head against her ankle.

"No," he said, glaring at Crookshanks. "But your cat is an arse, if you weren't aware."

Offended, Hermione glared at him and reached down to pick up Crookshanks, balancing him atop the books Tom had given her. "He's just picky about who he socializes with," she said. "Besides, he likes older you just fine."

Tom's glare at a very smug Crookshanks intensified. "Does he now?" he muttered.

"Seems to," said Hermione.

Crookshanks let out soft  _Rrrreow_  as he stuck his head under Hermione's chin and purred. Tom seemed to become even more annoyed at the sight.

"Why are you so cross with him?" she asked Tom. "He hasn't done anything."

Crookshanks hissed in Tom's direction, making Hermione frown."Crooksie, be kind," she said.

"He highly dislikes me," said Tom, now trapped in a glaring contest with the half-kneazle, "so I can't imagine why he'd have a preference to my older self."

Hermione could only frown at her familiar in confusion. "Yeah," she said, noting Crookshanks' taunting body language. "Me either."


	55. Ginger Menaces

Crookshanks paced the perimeter of the common room while his tail swished with relaxed patience. His self-appointed vigil was, so far, as uneventful as the many before it. It was rare that Rat-Thing was foolish enough to venture away from his loud human, but Crookshanks wanted to bring Rat-Thing to Cherie. The water-snake was older than Crookshanks, and he hoped that perhaps she'd encountered something as curious as Rat-Thing before.

Or, at least, she might be able to tell him how to keep it away from his Hermione.

And while she was at it, maybe she could help him come up with a better name for Hermione. Mistress seemed less and less fitting the longer he was with her. She shared almost no qualities with his former mistress, who'd referred to herself as such constantly. Hermione was far kinder than that devil-woman and far more pleasant to be bound to. The more he thought about it, and the longer he was with her, the more he realized she needed her own name from him.

All of her human companions called her by her name, which meant he had to get creative.

So Crookshanks paced and pondered his troubles throughout the night until a few hours before dawn when the sound of scuttling drew his attention. He crouched and stared at one of the stair cases, his tail still, and watched for movement in the dark.

Rat-Thing was halfway from the first set of stairs to the set that would take him to Hermione when Crookshanks pounced, managing to drag one clawed paw across the rat's back. The high pitch squeals his actions rewarded made him purr with pride, but it quickly became a low growl instead when the rat tried to slip past him again.

The chase around the common room went on for some time before Rat-Thing gave up and dashed back up to his master and Crookshanks hissed from the base of the stairs.

If the loud human wasn't a potential danger, Crookshanks might've chased the small beast. And he was quite disappointed that his prey had gotten away.

After licking his paws clean, padding back up the stairs, and rewarding his small accomplishment with a long drink of water from his bowl, Crookshanks leapt back up on Hermione's bed and curled up beside her. For a few minutes he listened to her breathing and her heart rate, only closing his eyes when he was certain she wasn't close to waking up. At least, not yet.

He could nap while he waited for her to rise. Despite wanting food now, she had been unwell lately, and, in his opinion, could probably do with the added rest. Plus, she often filled his bowl without his prompting, and never forgot to feed him, despite often forgetting to feed herself. It was a small inconvenience to wait on her.

But he'd still ask Cherie where the best hunting spots in the castle might be. He'd only caught a few field mice since they arrived, and he was eager for more prey to chase.

* * *

The back of her neck started to prickle moments before she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. A neutral expression settled into her features as she picked at her fruit, her stomach not quite awake enough to eat despite how hungry she was, and watched Ronald barrel towards where she and Harry sat at Gryffindor table. His burning eyes caught her gaze before he reached them, and she had just long enough to acknowledge that the fiery expression might have matched his hair, but was far from complimentary, in the time it took him to cross the room.

"Oh, what now," Harry muttered under his breath.

"You!" Ronald shouted. "Your bloody beast attacked Scabbers last night!"

Hermione blinked at him. "Sorry," she began dryly. "Do you mean to tell me that my  _cat_  went after your unattended  _rat_  because you don't cage him up at night like you ought?"

"If anything belongs in a cage it's your bloody fuzzball!" Ron argued.

Hermione took a deep breath as her shoulders tensed. "The only way Crookshanks could be getting at Scabbers is if Scabbers is leaving your dormitory at night, Ronald. Crookshanks doesn't do much exploring in the castle. He's either in my dorm, in the common room, or roaming the grounds somewhere. He's a  _cat_. What business does your rat have wandering about the common room? Transfigure a cage for him at and quit griping at me that your pet isn't wise enough to stay put at night," she told him primly. "Frankly, I don't care and your inability to be a responsible pet owner is hardly my problem."

"It's not like he attacks everyone's pets, either," chimed Harry. "He seems to get along with Hedwig just fine. And I think 'Mione has said this before, but you really are lucky no one else's cats have tried to have a go at him before."

Ron's flushed face seemed to grow redder. " _'Mione's_ always right, is she, Harry?" he said mockingly. " _'Mione, 'Mione, 'Mione!_ "

Harry glared at him. "What's your problem, mate?" he asked. "She's my best friend, and she's meant to be yours too, but you've been such a prat lately it's a wonder anyone still puts up with you."

"Sounds real  _friendly_  to me," Ron continued. "Come off it, Harry, you're bloody pathetic at lying anyhow."

Harry glanced at an equally perplexed Hermione before turning a slightly annoyed brow back to Ronald. "What are you on about, mate?"

"You two think you're so clever," Ron sneered. "You've been prancing around after her like a bloody lap dog since last year, mate, you're not fooling anyone!"

"Wait," Harry said slowly, his eyes narrowing further. "You think we're  _dating_? Honestly? Have you lost it?"

Hermione made a face. "No offense, Harry, but—"

"That's disgusting and out of the question?" Harry finished for her. "Correct. None taken. None intended. We're like siblings."

"Agreed," she said. "Ronald, you've truly lost the plot." Hermione shook her head, gave up on her fruit, and collected her things before standing. "You need to get ahold of yourself," she told Ron. "This is getting ridiculous."

"It's surpassed ridiculous," said Harry, still glaring at Ron. "You've been nothing but nasty towards her since last term, Ron, and I'm sick of it. You're supposed to be our friend and instead you're being an almighty prat."

"Yeah?" said Ron challengingly. "What're you gonna do about it, lap dog?"

Hermione's palm twitched to grip her wand, but she refrained. Albeit barely.

"You don't want to find out," said Harry dangerously. "I'm not in the habit of sitting by while people harass my friends." He gave Ron a quick, unimpressed once over and a sneer. "Especially by  _former_ friends."

When Harry and Hermione left the table, Ronald was nearly puce with rage, but too flustered to keep up the fight or cause a bigger scene.

Despite the fact that he was still seething, Harry took Hermione's hand once they were well on their way to Potions and let her reassuring grip calm him.

"I'm damn sick of him," he told her as they started their decent down many staircases. "He's going too far with this nonsense."

"Bugger for him," she muttered. "Probably best to just ignore him for now and report him to a prefect or McGonagall if he steps out of line again."

Harry heaved a great sigh. "Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. "I hate this."

She squeezed his hand. "Me too."


	56. Crooks & Cherie

Crookshanks was wandering the forbidden forest when he found a partially covered storm drain of some nature. It seemed insignificant at first, but the faintest traces of Cherie's scent lingered near the entrance, so he ventured into the dark, damp tunnel despite his wariness.

Her scent took him through a maze of pipes and drains, but eventually he found himself back in the room Hermione's young mate had brought them to, Cherie's home, and he slowed his trotting to a quieter drift. He kept his eyes downcast as he searched the space, listening for movement. His hackles raised when he finally caught the soft echo of slithering and he jumped when the giant stone statue moved and opened to admit the water snake.

"I wondered when I'd see you again," she said to him. "It has been a long time, my furry friend."

Crookshanks relaxed, and, sensing no danger, met the snake's gaze. She looked slightly different, sounded slightly different, and regarded him much differently. As if she knew him better than he did her.

Though he wasn't certain the extent of how her magic mimicked Hermione's young mate's, he knew that she, like he, could hear in Crookshanks' mind.

 _There are two of you_ , he guessed.  _Like him_.

"Yes," said Cherie, slithering nearer and laying her head on the stone floor once they were in a comfortable vicinity. "I've stayed put these fifty some-odd years. I rather like it here, you see. And it means I can keep an eye on our little Lady while she's too young to do it herself."

Crookshanks blinked.  _Lady?_

Cherie flicked her tongue to scent the air, though the gesture was more amused than necessary. "You've been trying to decide what to call her, yes? Eventually, she'll start to go by Lady.  _His_  Lady.  _Our_  Lady.  _My_  Lady. Master's boys, and later men, will address her many ways, but primarily that way."

Crookshanks licked a paw as he mulled over the name.  _I like Lady,_  he finally decided.  _My Lady_.

Cherie seemed proud of herself. "If you're eager for company, there's a warm pool behind my first master's study in the statue. He used his magic to keep it hot for me, and the fish from the lake are sometimes lured by the water. I'm certain I could fish us something to snack on."

Crookshanks' ears twitched with delight.  _You catch, I kill._

At her insistence, Crookshanks deftly leapt upon her back, near enough to her head to speak with her, but not so near as to be an annoyance, and Cherie took them back beyond the rooms within the statue to through an opening charmed to keep moisture from entering the human rooms. Crookshanks purred when the damp heat began to soak into his fur. The pool's water was clean and sweet-tasting, and its depth echoed Cherie's promises of a good meal.

Once Cherie was certain he was comfortable on the rocky shore of her personal pool, she slipped into the warm waters and dove down. When she returned several minutes later and tossed a large fish upon the shore, Crookshanks pounced and killed it quickly, licking his teeth clean as he swished his tail happily.

With careful claw-made cuts and tears, their loot was divided and shared fairly, with scraps tossed back into the water to sink to the bottom of the deep, deep pool.

Crookshanks curled up on the warm stones with a full stomach and a contented purr after their third shared fish, and was already asleep by the time Cherie curled up around him to join him in slumber.

* * *

If they hadn't been in the library, Hermione guessed that Harry's arrival would've been marked by books slammed on a table and an angry huff. Instead, he sat down across the table from her seething quietly and began flipping his books open with more force than necessary.

She didn't ask how Quidditch practice went, but noticed that a few stray droplets of water were still hanging from messy locks of hair. He'd rushed his post-practice shower and fled the company of his teammates, by the looks of it.

"I love Quidditch," he began in a low voice several moments later. "But I hate everything to do with it sometimes."

Hermione mulled over her words carefully. "You can love the sport but hate the sport culture," she said.

"Sounds about right," said Harry.

"D'you want to talk about it?" she asked, keeping her voice as neutral as she could manage. She worried for him, but he probably wouldn't benefit from her fretting at the moment.

"Dunno," he muttered. "I sort of just want everything to go away, t'be honest."

She chewed her lip and tapped the feather end of her quill against her textbook. "Maybe ask Sirius for advice?" she suggested. "Couldn't hurt at least, could it?"

Harry frowned, but didn't look up from his homework. "Maybe," he said noncommittally. "I'll think on it."

Hermione nodded and let the subject rest, but hoped he'd take her advice.

* * *

Sirius frowned at the letter in his hands, not noticing the worried glance he received from his cousin as a result, nor the other quiet, almost expectant gaze aimed at him.

"Is everything alright?" Narcissa asked him.

"Harry's stressed," he said distractedly. "House politics. Quidditch politics. It's eating at him, apparently."

The purse of Narcissa's lips said more that she was willing to say aloud. Lord Riddle, on the other hand, had no such reservations.

"And the true unrest begins," he said, taking a slow sip of his tea. "It seems like it's begun so terribly early this time around."

"How long?" asked Sirius, an edge of parental concern in his voice.

"Longer than any of us would prefer," Tom answered vaguely. "The Weasley boy is quite thoroughly making things worse for Harry and Hermione, if memory serves."

Sirius read the last few paragraphs of Harry's letter before responding. "He's not enjoying Quidditch anymore. Not the way he should. He's excited for Hogsmeade though. The pair of them plan to explore together, maybe meet up with their Slytherin friends at Madame Puddifoot's, if they can get away with it."

Tom's expression was unreadable. "He doesn't and he won't. Hogsmeade will provide them a small escape, but it'll barely be enough to last them until their final hours as Gryffindors. They'll not manage to spend time with their other friends out in the open for a while. But eventually they'll grow tired of hiding."

Narcissa took a slow sip of her tea. "And the Weasley boy?"

Tom gave her a blank look. "The one with the horrible temper, pitiful manners, a complete and utter inability to keep his mouth shut when he ought, and who is quite effectively digging his own metaphorical grave?" he asked. "That Weasley boy? Why he'll make careless, typical, unchecked, and arrogant Gryffindor mistakes, I'd imagine."

"You don't imagine anything," said Sirius.

Tom offered him a small smile. "No, but I  _imagine_ he won't enjoy being on the receiving end of a certain witch's wand when he fully oversteps, don't you?"

Narcissa's lips twitched into a small, mean smirk. "Stupid boy. I blame his mother. Awful, obnoxious woman."

"He certainly has Molly's temper," Tom agreed. "But it's little matter. His tantrums will get him nowhere."

Sirius hummed, an amused grin tugging at his lips. "I suppose  _Dove_  won't stand that them for long, will she?"

Tom's annoyed stare was only half-genuine. "Of course she won't. Give both of our hiding snakes time. Harry and Hermione only need a while to shed their fake skins. And once they've shed, there's no putting them back on."

"D'you suppose it'd be terribly irresponsible to tell them about a few of the secret passageways between Hogsmeade and the school?" asked Sirius. "So they can meet up with Draco and that lot more often. Maybe ease the burden a bit?"

"No need," Tom assured him, his smirk poorly suppressed. "I believe Fred and George Weasley have come across something that once belonged to you. And I know Dove is clever enough to offer the Twins an introduction to Moony and Padfoot in exchange."

Sirius snorted and tucked the letter away before sending a smug look in his cousin's direction. "And you thought telling them stories of my Hogwarts misadventures would be a bad thing."

Narcissa sipped her tea and raised a brow. "There's plenty of time for your influence to take effect, Sirius."

Tom made a quiet noise of amusement. "I wouldn't count on it," he said. "You're forgetting who Hermione's primary role model is."


	57. Vigilio Servo

Tom sat back and pressed two knuckles on each hand into his temples, then started to knead the soreness building there. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to will his frustration to ride the carbon dioxide out of his body.

Losing his tempter wouldn't make his research any easier. Losing his temper wouldn't make him effective. Losing his temper wouldn't help him find his solution.

Despite having dulled the initial surge of fury that had ignited his veins, he still ended up setting yet another ancient text on the coffee table with more force than he'd intended. It startled Flynn but Abraxas had noticed Tom's discontent sooner, and wasn't caught off guard.

"No luck?" he asked carefully.

Tom shook his head. He could feel the bitter frown that had settled into his features. Not having control was one of his biggest pet peeves.

"If you're still planning to join me this summer, there's a much less Hogwarts-friendly library on the property," Abraxas offered. "I'd be happy to help you comb through it."

Tom nodded and made a small noise of gratitude, but continued to glare at the book, one of  _dozens_  before it, that had failed to aid him with his task.

"Are we staying at Malfoy Manor proper?" Flynn asked.

Abraxas shook his head. "For a week or so while my personal elves finish the chores my parents left them. Then we'll floo to my property in Scotland. We can borrow anything from the manor library, but I was also gifted a slew of interesting, abstract texts for the castle library in Scotland. I haven't had a chance to inspect any of it until this summer."

Tom nodded absently, even though the information wasn't directly for his benefit. Access to both pureblood libraries was ideal.

Flynn hesitated a moment before turning to address Tom. "What are you looking for?"

Flashes of the poison clouding Dove's mind twisted behind Tom's eyes, blurring together with his most recent memories of her newly installed, nearly-flawless emotional mask.

_I_ _'ve taught her too well…_

"Being separated by time is one annoyance," Tom began, "but being separated by space is another burden entirely." Tom stood suddenly, lazily, and headed towards the Room of Requirement's door. "I'll be back."

Abraxas loosed a tense sigh once the door had shut behind him.

"Does she know how…immersed he is in her wellbeing?" Flynn asked in a whisper.

The brow Abraxas raised at him was laced with condescension. "Of course she doesn't. He only knows how to… _function_  when he's in full control. I highly doubt she'd gladly consent to him being able to keep an eye on her from  _anywhere_  in the world."

"Or any _when_ ," Flynn muttered, his gaze drifting to the door briefly. "I doubt he's considered her feelings on the matter."

Abraxas shrugged. "She's worrying him. He thinks it's necessary for her benefit. So no, how she  _feels_  about this issue in particular isn't something he would bring under consideration."

"She's unwell," said Flynn, half questioning.

"It would seem that way, yes," Abraxas answered. "Seeing as he summoned us  _after_  meeting with her and sending her off to bed."

"He cares about her."

Abraxas gave Flynn a sharp look, checking the door to make sure Tom hadn't returned. "As well as someone like Tom can care for a person. I only hope for their sakes that she either never finds out about what he's planning or that he's in a good mood when she does."

Flynn frowned. "Isn't there some sort of ancient surveillance spell? Something people used to keep an eye on sick loved ones and children?"

"The Latin for that is too specific," said Abraxas. "That's where he started his search. You were at Quidditch practice when he and I started this project of his."

"If anyone could tweak the Latin and make a spell that still works, it's Tom," Flynn pointed out.

Abraxas sighed. "Flynn, while I agree with you, I highly recommend letting Tom come to that conclusion on his own. The less he thinks we're thinking about it, the less likely he is to go digging around in our heads and find out what we think about this whole thing. Make sense?"

Before Flynn could answer, Tom reentered the room with a look of determination creasing his brow. Neither pureblood commented as he bee-lined for his belongings and quickly flipped to the last page of his diary.

"Nearly two in the morning," he muttered to himself. Abraxas checked his watch. It was nearly one in the morning for them, so he must've been talking about  _Wendy_.

He walked to one side of the room, away from the couches, and faces the eastern wall with his wand raised.

" _Vigilio Servo_."

A jet of white-blue light shot from Tom's wand to the wall, where it dimmed and spread out across the wall's surface. It made a rather large viewing space, reminding Abraxas of a time when his mother had taught him a scrying spell using a fountain in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. A moment later, a dark image of a lone Gryffindor girl on a horribly tattered looking couch — in what the Slytherins could only assume was the Gryffindor common room — came into focus. The fire had nearly burned itself out, with the remaining embers providing, seemingly, enough light for the girl to read by. Her expression was tired and sour, but whether it was from sleeplessness or the contents of her book, Abraxas and Flynn couldn't tell.

A rolling meow came from her lap as a fluffy ginger beast of a cat climbed up the back of the pitiful excuse for a couch, and moved to the armrest so he could nuzzle the girl's hair.

" _Yes, Crookshanks, I know its late,_ " she said quietly. " _Go on up to bed if you_ _'d like._ "

Neither Tom nor Abraxas nor Flynn made a sound in the Room of Requirement as the cat, the half-kneazle, Tom would inform them later, suddenly stiffed and hissed in the direction of a staircase.

The girl with frizzy brown curls only sighed. " _Leave Scabbers alone, please. Ronald_ _'s been enough of an arse about that blood rat lately. I'd rather he didn't make another scene in the Great Hall."_

"What  _scene_ , Dove?" Tom hissed under his breath, but it seemed his spell was a one way street. Wendy didn't hear him.

"' _Mione_?"

Wendy turned toward the staircase Crookshanks had hissed at and gave the dark haired boy peering at her from halfway down the steps a curious look.

" _What are you up for, Harry?_ _"_  she asked him.

" _What are_ you _up for?_ _"_

She only shrugged. " _Couldn_ _'t sleep."_

Harry joined her in the common room, dressed in pajamas that were equally as rumpled as hers, but without the robe she'd thrown over herself for warmth. He scratched Crookshanks' head affectionately and squinted at something on the table beside them.

" _Is that from Lord Riddle?_ " he asked.

Wendy's sour expression turned bitter. " _It is._ "

Harry hesitated, giving her a worried glance. " _Cross with him again?_ "

She took a coin pouch from her robe pocket and threw it on the table. It landed with a thump so loud that Harry and Crookshanks both jumped.

" _For Hogsmeade_ ," she said in a condescending mimicry that, Tom assumed, was directed at his older self.

" _It_ _'s part of the sponsorship thing, isn't it?_ " asked Harry carefully.

" _I don_ _'t need four hundred galleons for one weekend, Harry."_

Harry winced. " _Fair enough. Was that all he wrote you for?_ _"_

" _Never is_ ," she said bitterly. " _He_ _'s visiting again soon. End of the month, I suppose._ "

Harry tried to give her a small smile. " _D_ _'you think you'd be able to get away with sneaking a few hundred galleons back in his pocket without him noticing?_ "

"No," said Tom as Wendy gave Harry a mean smile.

" _I think I have a better idea_ ," she said.

"Try me, Dove," Tom hissed, glaring at her image. He summoned one of his extra journals and a quill, quickly penned a note, and spelled the ink dry. "And good luck catching me off guard when you're barely getting any sleep."

Abraxas and Flynn quickly went back to their O.W.L.s prep work when Tom cast a quick  _finite_  at the wall, and actively ignored him when he packed his bags with haste.

"I'm going to bed," he said shortly, the words thrown over his shoulder as he stalked towards the door.

"Goodnight," they chorused, but Tom was already gone.

Flynn gave Abraxas a pointed look. "She's pretty. Wasting away, certainly, which explains his mood, but she's  _pretty_."

Abraxas made a noncommittal sound. "Did you notice her book was glamoured? I bet she was reading something of Tom's, or maybe he told her how to break into the Restricted Section."

"I was more surprised that he was seething over that Ron fellow instead of that friend of hers," Flynn admitted.

"Harry isn't a threat," said Abraxas. "They're clearly just good friends. Tom probably thinks of the boy as an ally."

Flynn took a deep breath. "Think he'll ever use that again with us around?"

Abraxas gave him a bored look. "Flynn," he said, "you know he's going to see if she gives  _Lord Riddle_  his money back successfully or not. I imagine he'll test that spell often while we're still in the castle. And he'll be anxious as all hell once we've left."

Flynn nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. "She's going to rip into him if she ever finds out he has that spell," he observed.

Abraxas' lips turned up into a half-smirk. "Most definitely. I'm more curious about how she behaves around him in her time."

"Reckon she's met us yet?" Flynn asked.

Abraxas shrugged. "Maybe we'll find out."


	58. Define Normal

Hermione left lunch early on Halloween. Her appetite had escaped her once again. Surrounded by the smells of sweets and all manner of gore-themed dishes, she simply hadn't been able to stand it. Perhaps Tom would bring food to the Room of Requirement when she met him later.

She's barely taken four steps into the entry hall when she saw them walking towards her and scowled.

He did say he planned to visit at the end of the month.

Throwing a forced smile on her face, she turned and walked in their direction.

Tom, naturally, pulled her into his side affectionately and smiled. "Happy Halloween, Dove."

"You too," she murmured. There were two hundred and seventy galleons in her robe pocket. Everything else she'd kept for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. All she had to do was be patient and sneaky. "What are you two up to?"

Flynn Avery offered her an amused grin from Tom's other side. "Business nonsense. Nothing to bore you with, birdy."

The impatient look Tom threw at him was only acknowledged by Hermione.

"You're free until Charms, yes?" Tom asked her, ignoring Avery entirely.

She nodded and let him guide her down the hall, joining them on whatever path they'd been taking through the castle before they ran into her. "I'm supposed to meet the others somewhere to study before then, though."

Tom nodded, seeming satisfied by her answer. "I won't keep you for that long. Severus has the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs of your year after lunch and I decided to stay on the premises while we wait for him."

She raised a brow at his relaxed smile. "Hiding?"

"It's been a dreadfully annoying day at the Ministry so far," Flynn offered.

Hermione snorted. "Hiding."

Tom led them to one of the courtyards, then out of the castle. The paths were mostly empty given the time of day, making the crisp trip around the grounds more peaceful than not.

"Started Christmas shopping yet?" Tom asked her after a few leisurely moments of silence.

"Not yet, not," she answered. "Hogsmeade tomorrow though."

Tom hummed. "Then I wouldn't recommend following through with your little plot."

She stopped in the middle of the path and gaped at him. Tom motioned for Flynn to keep walking, to which he shrugged and whistled to himself as he continued down the path. Hermione's shock was evident, but quickly switched to anger. Tom's unfased expression only made her blood boil hotter.

"How did you—" she started.

"You've lived with Gryffindors for three years, Dove," he said patiently. "You may be Slytherin enough to fool them, but you've hardly been given a chance to hone those skills living with blunt simpletons." He raised a brow. "And I know you better than you know yourself. I knew good and damn well you wouldn't be pleased with your allowance. That changes nothing about the fact that it's my responsibility to give you the means to look after yourself  _and_  not have to worry about your Christmas shopping. Four hundred galleons is an  _insignificant_  sum. I could give you five times that a  _week_  and I wouldn't miss it."

Hermione ground her teeth as she seethed. "I don't  _need it,_ " she hissed. "I don't  _want it_."

"Then spend it on Christmas presents," he parried, unaffected by her temper. "Just know that until you stop fighting me over something as trivial as  _money,_ I'll double every galleon you fight me over until you realize how little it mattes."

" _Double_?!" she shouted in disbelief. "But I don't- That's so-"

"Unnecessary?" Tom guessed.

"Yes!"

He shrugged. "Pity you feel that way, but it changes nothing. Materialism is the last trait I'm worried about you developing."

"Does in not matter that it makes me uncomfortable?" she demanded. "Do you even give a damn?"

His expression tightened, but she was too peeved to care.

"Of course I do," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Which is why we're crossing this hurdle now, as opposed to letting you continue to fret over my wealth and how much of it I share with you. And if your temper is the only way to make you  _spend anything_  so you get used to the  _benefits_  of having extra pocket money, then so be it."

His ire was replaced with a small smile as quickly as it had appeared.

"Spend it on younger me if it bothers you so much," he said with a shrug. "I can't promise you that will go over well, but you're welcome to try. The only thing I ask is that you get used to it. I'd rather not bicker about the same thing every time we're in the same vicinity."

Hermione begrudgingly admitted to herself that she didn't want to fight with him every time she saw him either, especially since his younger self only seemed to care about teaching her as much as he could before he went on summer holiday. Tom the elder was currently the least upsetting of the two, all things considered.

She sighed.

Tom extended a hand in her direction with a raise brow. "We were taking a walk?"

She rolled her eyes, tried to forget about the galleons, and let him wrap his arm around her shoulders again.

* * *

Harry, Draco, Theo, Blaise, and Tracey were waiting for her in an abandoned classroom when she came back inside. They'd spread desks out and fashioned a study circle of sorts by pushing all the tables into the center of the room and angling them accordingly. Extra chairs had been lined against the walls to be kept out of the way, and there was an open space between Draco and Theo.

Hermione smiled as she rounded the table and set out her study things. Then she started working on outlining the Potion's essay they'd been assigned that morning.

Harry glanced up from Draco's other side and gave her an inquiring smile. She shrugged, but showed no signs of her earlier frustration, and he assumed all was well.

She passively listened to Harry and Draco murmur back and forth about the Pettigrew case as she worked, only half paying attention to the details. They'd hardly changed anyway. Pettigrew was still wanted. Pettigrew's whereabouts were still unknown. The Ministry suspected he, like many other members of the terrorist sect that had constantly attacked the British wizarding world a decade ago, had fled into hiding. Pettigrew was facing life in Azkaban, if not the Dementor's Kiss, upon his apprehension.

"I just hope they find him eventually," Harry was telling Draco. "Sirius seemed real anxious about it this summer. He just wants it to be over."

Draco nodded. "Mum's worried too. For your sake, of course, and Sirius's."

"Harry," said Blaise carefully from across their circle of tables. "Can I ask you something kinda personal?"

Bemused, Harry shrugged. "I guess so?"

"Why do you call him by his first name?" Blaise asked. "I mean, I've never really cared about any of my step fathers, so I've never called them 'Dad' or 'Father'…" He shrugged and gave Harry an apologetic look. "It doesn't really matter. It's your business. I was just curious, since you seem close."

Harry fidgeted with his quill. "It's crossed my mind a few times. And it's alright. I'm not upset or anything. I suppose it might be kind of odd if I never did stop calling him Sirius."

Tracey hummed and chimed in with, "Not really. It'd just depend on how close you are and how you both feel about it, I think. I know people who call their  _birth_  parents by their first names."

"Yeah," said Harry, his expression lightening somewhat. "I'll probably ask him about it over Christmas holiday. See if he'd even be comfortable with it."

"I think that's a good plan, if it's bugging you, of course," said Theodore.

Hermione smiled at her notes. This is what proper friends a were meant to be like. Casual. Decent to each other. Supportive. Understanding.

She just wished her relationship with Tom could be a bit more normal.


End file.
